What Family Is For
by ICanProveMishaIsASquirrel
Summary: Dean and Sam have finally met some normal people. To Dean, they seem like excellent candidates to adopt 2-year-old Alex and save her from a hunter's life. Now the only obstacles facing the brothers are letting her go and keeping her away.
1. Chapter 1 - Difficult Decisions

**A/N; Here it is - my second uploaded story! So excited for this one - its a longer piece that will have multiple chapters (to be published after I edit and format them for publication). Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 1

Difficult Decisions

The growling of a powerful engine echoed across the countryside as a gleaming black '67 Impala sailed down the county road. The asphalt path cut between wheat fields, the golden seeds and chaff illuminated by the bright, damp sunlight that was just now reentering the world, signaling a new day. The trees glittered with dewdrops that dangled from tender leaves. Mist rose off the earth, cut by shadows and sunbeams to cast an ethereally striped haze across the land. It seemed a glimmering start to a hopeful day.

Hopeful for some.

Dean sat, pensive, behind the wheel of his Chevy, his brother absently gazing out the passenger side window at the unfurling landscape beyond the glass. It had been a long night for both of them. Nothing special, but long nonetheless. Digging up graves to salt and burn bones never got any easier, especially at two in the morning with a hot-headed poltergeist hard on their case. But it certainly wasn't cause for the hard silence that surrounded Dean as he drove, and Sam (being Sam) noticed.

And – Sam being Sam – he mentioned it.

"You all right?" he tossed the question lazily over to his brother, accompanied with a casual glance.

There was a pause in which Dean's jaw tightened briefly before he spoke; "What do you think of that Hurstwine family? The couple – Doug and Pam – seem like decent people to you?"

Sam thought for a second, "Yeah, they seemed fine."

"Fine, fine, sure they were _fine_ ," Dean murmured irritably.

"Were you wanting a bit more detail or something?"

"Well… _yeah_ ," grumbled Dean, "I mean, they weren't just… _fine_ , right? They were… nice, friendly, moral, weren't they? Am I just goin' nuts here?"

"No, no, they were definitely… all those things. Some of the most normal, genuine people we've met," Sam agreed.

"And their son, Matt…. He seemed like a nice kid, right? Happy… wasn't going to need therapy or anything in the future. Well, I suppose with the exception of the poltergeist living in his parents' master bathroom."

"Yeah," replied Sam. "Great kid, I thought."

"Yeah, I thought so, too…," Dean drifted, gazing absently at the road.

Sam watched his brother for a while with an inquisitive expression across his face. He finally broke the silence, his curiosity getting the best of him, "Dean, what's up? Why are you so interested in this family all of a sudden?"

"I was just thinking, Sammy…," there was another moment of silence while Dean gathered his thoughts, "I mean, they seem like the most normal, _human_ people we've met in a long time and… responsible and caring."

"Dude, seriously, _what_ is up? 'Responsible and caring'? I didn't know you knew those words," chided Sam.

"Hey, shut up – I've been responsible and caring all my life, just never cared to actually use those adjectives until recently," Dean snapped back.

"So why now?" persisted Sam.

Dean gazed out across the flat, black surface once more; "I want to ask Doug and Pam if they'd take in Alex."

The only sound was that of the Impala's rumbling engine while Sam sat frozen, gazing at his brother, a look of grief-stricken surprise plastered across his visage. Dean cast a glance over at this still image once or twice before deciding the error in Sam's expression was caused by a lack of explanation.

"Like, _adopt_ her," he elaborated.

"Yeah, I get that," Sam bit back. He then worked to gather together his words, "You… you want to give up Alex?"

Dean looked somewhat disgruntled at this, shifting in his seat, "Not exactly how I'd like to put it, but yes."

"How would you like to put it?"

"How about… giving my daughter the life I never had? That _we_ never had. Safe and comfortable and _normal_ ," Dean replied.

"By handing her over to perfect strangers?" Sam shook his head in disbelief.

"They're not perfect strangers; we just eradicated a poltergeist from their house, spent three days working with them," Dean countered. "You just said they seemed like decent, kind people – the best we've met in a _long_ time."

"I didn't mean, 'Oh, yeah, they seem like great parents for Alex – she can go live with them for the rest of her life,'" Sam argued. "Dean, why would you even want to do this?"

"I don't want to do this; I _have_ to do this."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do! Sam!" Dean sighed, a gravely growl coming from his throat. "I wake up in the middle of the night because – because a twig breaks outside our motel window and my heart stops beating because I am _terrified_ that if I look over, I'm going to see a heap of bloody two-year-old on the floor! Every time we go on a hunt, I can't help but think, 'I hope nothing's going after Alex while we're away.' And that's not even what bothers me, this continuous, gut-wrenching fear. It's _annoying_ , but it's not what bothers me. All the tension I have and all the nervousness bouncing around in my chest, keeping me from breathing like a normal person, it's _all_ worth it just to see her smilin' face in the morning and hear her laugh and watch her discover the world. Just the way she somehow manages to find some good in this hell-hole we call our home, and it make me feel better about living in it, but dammit, Sam… all the while I'm seeing the beginning of our crappy childhood. Living without a real home and surrounded by a beat-up, worn-down, run-ragged family of _real cynical_ bastards. And there's so much innocence just in her eyes… so much hope…. I can't put her through what we went through. Not if I can help it."

Sam's voice was quiet, "It wasn't all that bad."

"No, it was," Dean retorted immediately. "And don't you dare try and go against that, because, let's be honest, Sammy, you are lyin' out your ass."

Sam sighed in reply.

"It's better this way, it really is," Dean continued. "You gotta see it; you _know_ this is right. She's safer and happier the farther away she gets from us."

Sam ground his teeth, looking defeated. "You're right. If she can have a normal life… we should give that to her."

"Damn straight," Dean spoke quietly.

They traveled another mile or so before Sam looked over and spoke once more; "Are you going to be able to do this?"

Dean gave Sam a questioning glance, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I'm just her uncle and I'm dying inside thinking about it. Dean, you went and sold your soul to Hell to bring me back when _I_ kicked the bucket – how are you going to handle losing your daughter?"

"Easy," replied Dean with his utterly typical nonchalance, "Giving her up means she's not going to die. Just like selling my soul means you didn't die. Or, at least, didn't stay dead."

Sam gave a tiny sniff of laughter. "So you're just going to continue to suffer so that the people you care about don't have to?"

"Hey, what's family for?" Dean replied. "We just happen to be living an exaggerated case."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I suppose."

They turned into the motel parking lot and pulled into a vacant space. Just as Dean turned off the vehicle, a tiny, round face framed in thin, blonde hair peaked over the sill of a second floor window, looking down at them. The expression of excited expectancy quickly turned to bouncy jubilance.

Dean smiled. "I swear to god, she knows the sound of the engine already," he said as he and Sam stepped out of the car. "That's my girl." Only a moment after the words passed beyond his lips, he felt his heart sink seemingly out of his chest to the gravel that ground beneath his boots.


	2. Chapter 2 - Numbered Days

Chapter 2

Numbered Days

The Winchester family stayed long past their usual departure time that day. It being a Friday, they knew neither of the Hurstwines would be home until after regular business hours, at which time Sam and Dean had decided to pay them a visit, both to inform them of the eradication of their poltergeist as well as Dean's inquiry concerning Alex. Having nothing pressing to do aside from eat and sleep until five o'clock in the evening, they did just that, interspersed with moments enjoying Alex's company. Although they had been up all night, both brothers were eager to spend as much time as possible with the girl, since it could very easily be the last time they saw her.

They did the usual activities, which were often the indulgence of Alex's curiosity. Dean played a lot more of the physical games that required hand-eye coordination, while Sam feed the more intellectual part of Alex's personality, reading whatever book she picked up and held out to him. But of course, _everyone_ had to play hide and go seek (which was a fairly difficult task for the two substantially large men in the rather small motel room). When it was time to eat, they ate. When it was time to nap, they napped. All of them. For a couple hours.

At about four-thirty, they called the baby-sitter to watch Alex for the time Sam and Dean would be absent. When Lila showed up, they were off.

It was a long evening. And a short one. The Hurstwines, although rather surprised and unsure at first, soon came around to the idea of adopting Alex and agreed. It helped that Dean had pitched her as a "young girl they had been taking care of for a while and who needed a real home," excluding the fact that she was his daughter. Upon deciding to go through with the adoption, they agreed to bring Alex over the next morning. The two left, bringing dinner back to the motel with them.

The whole time, Dean never batted an eye.

The next morning came, still and quiet. The air held a weight as if a storm were brewing. Neither of the adults spoke much and even Alex got the sense of something odd going on, despite being only two years old. Her usual sleepy yet chipper morning chatter of half gibberish was minimal. It remained like this through a motel instant coffee and jarred pear sauce breakfast.

When they had all finished, Dean looked to his brother where he stood leaned against the short kitchenette counter, "Sam, you want to go put Alex's car seat in the Impala?"

"Sure," replied Sam. Putting down his empty paper cup, he picked up the car seat in the corner of the room and exited through the front door.

Dean was left alone with Alex on his lap, her wide, liquid green eyes inspecting the spoon she had just finished eating off of, turning its silvery form over and over in her tiny hands. He watched her for a moment, expressionless, with his arms wrapped loosely in front of the girl to guard her against falling. Then, he let his head sink down to kiss his daughter's forehead, eyes shut tight. He lingered there for a long moment, supporting the other side of her head with one large, carefully cupped hand. The girl didn't move nor pause in her inspection.

After a brief silence, he spoke, "What do you think, baby girl? Want to go on an adventure today?"

"Mmph," she replied absently.

"You're going to go and… and meet some new people – very nice people. And they've got a young boy you can play with…. It'll be fun," he paused, sighing. "And you're going to get to spend a lot of time with them, just you and them. But, you're not going to see me or… or Uncle Sam for a while. Okay?"

"'Kay," she didn't look up.

"Okay," echoed Dean. "Okay…. Well, that's the plan, then."

They sat quietly for a little while longer, Dean's breathing growing heavy as he waited, waited for the strength to stand. At last, he hoisted Alex off his lap as he came to his feet, then setting her on his hip. He went over to where her packed bag of things lay – her life in a canvas sack – which he slung over his other shoulder. Then he made for the door.

"All right, baby girl… let's go."

Outside, Sam had just finished securing the car seat into the back of the Impala. Upon seeing Dean approaching with Alex, he stood and moved toward them.

"I can throw that in here," he said, holding a hand out for Alex's bag, which Dean handed over.

"Can I get a hug before I put you in the car?" Dean asked Alex, who then proceeded to wrap her arms all the way around her father's neck. He held her close, trying to etch every detail of the moment into his memory.

Finally they disconnected and Dean carefully placed Alex into her seat, snapping the various straps into place. He gave her one last peck on the forehead and said softly, "Good-bye, Alex. Love you."

He shut the door.

"Okay," sighed Sam, beginning to climb into the passenger seat, "Here we go."

"Sam," Dean stopped him from sitting.

"Yeah?"

Purposefully removing his keys from his pocket, Dean tossed them over to Sam.

"You want me to drive?" his expression was quizzical.

Dean took a breath. "I want you to take her."

His mouth slightly agape and his brow furrowed in dismay, Sam moved away from the Impala, shutting the door. "What?"

"I can't do it, Sam," Dean stated. "I can't be there when she gets handed over to another family. I can't."

"You think I can?" retorted Sam. "I'm supposed to drive away with your child in the back seat, leave her with a bunch of people – give up my niece – then return back with an empty car and the news that this was in fact the last time we'll get to see her? And do it all _alone_?"

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask, but I wouldn't be askin' if I didn't have to," said Dean. "I _need_ you to do this for me, Sammy."

Sam looked off into the distance and sighed. It was very easy to understand where his brother was coming from… and very difficult at the same time. Nevertheless, he could see that Dean was beginning to break from the inside out. Even though Sam felt as though his world was shifting under his feet, he knew he would be the one less affected in all of this. Having that comparison in mind made it a little easier to accept the request.

"Yeah, okay."

"Thanks," replied Dean.

"I guess I'll see you back here in a while, then," Sam said as he moved around to the driver's side, looking downcast.

"Yeah."

"'Kay," and he climbed in behind the wheel.

The motor rumbled into existence, then the gravel crackled in protest as the Impala reversed in an arc out of the parking space. With the slight click of the transmission being shifted into drive, the vehicle moved off, out of the motel lot, onto the highway and out of sight. Dean stood stoically, watching until there was nothing left to see – the last time he would glimpse his one and only daughter.

The measured chugging of the engine was accompanied by the gentle squeak of soon-to-be-replaced breaks and Sam's heavy sigh. He had just pulled up in front of the Hurstwine's house. It was a lovely place – not overbearing or extravagant, but well kept, nicely decorated and welcoming. The gardens were blooming, a mixture of wildflowers and aromatic herbs neatly maintained around the sides of the building. The lawn was mowed and green, and on the front porch was a cozy-looking rocking bench. About the windows were hung simple curtains in well-chosen colors and the gutters were cleaned. For all intents and purposes, it seemed a perfectly charming place. Yet, for Sam, it was cloaked in dark hues of troubling events to come, and to come soon.

"Mmph," Alex commented from the back seat.

Sam looked behind him at his niece, who was gazing out the window at what would come to be her new home. Her eyes were wide and bright, flicking from one facet of the scenery to another. He smiled.

"What do you think, Alex?" he asked, and she rolled her head over on her headrest to look at him. "Seem like a good place to live?"

She turned her attention back out the window to examine the place once more. Amused at her contemplating manner, but still aching, Sam reached over the backrest of the front bench seat to tuck one of his large, long fingers under the hand Alex wasn't using to hold her fluffy, plush dog. He gently stroked the top of her tiny hand with his thumb, the difference in size utterly shocking. Her skin was softer than water from a mountain river and her features were remarkably delicate. It was another harsh contrast between the two hands; one worn from years of battle with callouses and scars, the other new and still perfect.

 _Best to keep it that way, I guess_ , Sam thought.

Suddenly Alex gave a squeak, fidgeting in her seat, her eyes fixed on something outside the window.

"People!" she chirped.

Sam twisted around in his seat to look. Pam and Doug had just exited their house and were standing on the porch, watching the Impala intently. The time had come. Slowly, Sam turned back to Alex.

"That's Pam and Doug… I mean… Mom and Dad," Sam explained gently.

"Dad?" Alex asked, searching the area. "Where's Dad?"

Sam turned his eyes up to the ceiling, desperately trying to keep it together. Upon regaining composure, he looked back to his niece to reply, "He's outside. Not the guy you're thinking of, but… Dad's outside.

"Now… should we go meet the Hurstwines?"

"Yeah," she agreed, although she most likely didn't completely understand the question.

"Okay."

Sam climbed out of the car, went around and grabbed Alex's possessions, then proceeded to remove Alex herself from the vehicle. Once his niece was resting on his hip, he turned to face the couple on the front step of the house.

With a deep breath, he murmured, "Okay… here we go."

From his bed in the motel room, Dean heard Sam return, park and shut off the Impala's engine. Upon this inconspicuous signal, Dean groaned as he hoisted himself into a sitting position on the edge of the uneven bundle of springs and worn, compressed fluff. He wiped his face and sniffed, casting his gaze wearily across the room to the poorly painted wall opposite him.

He had attempted to busy himself about packing while his brother was away, but after having stowed all of his possessions in his bag, leaving nothing left to do, he had collapsed upon the bed. At least he was ready to leave the town he had come to loath.

The door handle clacked and the hinges creaked as Sam entered. His tread was heavy and the keys made a cacophonous jangle when he dropped them onto the table. He rounded the half wall and moved to his bed. With what felt like his thousandth sigh, he sat down opposite Dean, mirroring his brother, the springs of the mattress protesting under his weight. He looked over at his sibling, his distress soundless but evident.

"Everything go smoothly?" Dean finally broke the heavy silence.

"Yeah," replied Sam, his voice thick. "Yeah, no problem."

After a pause, Dean continued, "Did Alex seem okay with the whole deal?"

"Yeah. I mean," Sam hesitated as he thought, "she's only two; I'm not sure she really understood what was going on."

"Yeah… yeah, I suppose.

"So, that's it, then?"

The two exchanged a long look, both noting but not acknowledging the pain in each other's eyes.

"Yeah, that's it," answered Sam.

Dean nodded, looking down.

They sat in silence for a while, still and contemplative. Dean, weary, rested his head in his hands, covering his face. Sam stared at the empty space between him and the cheap bedside table, his brow furrowed. Neither moved for a long time.

Until Dean convulsed briefly.

Sam caught sight of this and watched his brother for a moment. He noticed Dean's breathing had become erratic and rattling. His muscles had tensed all over his body and he hunched over more than usual. Between his brother's fingers, Sam noticed the glimmer of tears.

In a low, soft voice, Sam murmured, "Dean…,"

"My baby girl, Sammy," Dean choked out, lifting his head out of his hands. "My baby girl is gone. I'm never going to see her again," despair was heavy in his voice.

Somewhat frightened by the sudden intensity of Dean's reaction, Sam was compelled to rise and move over to sit beside his grieving brother. He wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders. Through the contact, Sam could feel his sibling shaking, and his sobs did not abate with the proffered comfort.

"Look… I know it's not really sufficient consolation, but," Sam began, "Pam and Doug… they could tell we'd grown attached to Alex. They still don't know the real reason, but they knew we cared about her and… they really appreciated what we'd done for her and promised me… that they would always make sure Alex knew about the two guys who took care of her for the first couple years of her life. She might not know exactly who we are, but she'll grow up knowing we loved her," Sam's own tears began to run down his cheeks. He added, as much to reassure himself as his brother, "She won't forget us."

 **A/N; I know this seems like a good wrapping up point, but not so, not so! There's much more to come!**


	3. Chapter 3 - Reasons Why

Chapter 3

Reasons Why

For the first year, the wound was raw. The memory of leaving Alexandra Winchester behind in a small Nebraskan town hung over the heads of the brothers, darkening their moods. Every once in a while something would remind them of the event and an ache would return to their environment with renewed force. Now and again the subject of conversation turned to the young girl now lost to them and their dialogue would become tense and short. They lingered not long on the topic, but the thoughtful silence afterward lasted for hours.

The second year was a bit easier. Their upset remained whole, but was buried deep, its coverings dulling the ache. Every once in a blue moon, one or the other might comment on a thought that had drifted up from the lowest part of their psyches. It was not as much an ordeal as it used to be, but it still elicited a wince of discomfort, even if the initial memory was a fond one.

By the third year, Alex's memory sat quietly in the back of their minds, but was never spoken of. Sam and Dean had learned that there was no point in bringing her up.

Apparently the universe would not allow such a thing to happen, however, because not so long after Sam and Dean had managed to completely bury Alex in their subconscious, she was summoned abruptly and vividly to the surface in a way that had never occurred in the past three years.

There had been three unusual murders in town. The link; all had drowned but had been at least three miles from any substantial body of water at the time of their death. The entire affair reeked of something supernatural. So Sam and Dean were paying a visit, checking into a motel for a few days and running their investigation just like always.

And somehow, in this unremarkable little town (with the exception of the murders), in this random state, at this run-of-the-mill motel, a coincidence occurred. Several spots down from a navy minivan, Sam and Dean were climbing out of the Impala to unload their belongs.

"You know, this reminds me of that whole thing over in Massachusetts with the vengeful sailor," Dean commented, heading towards the trunk.

"Yeah, but this time, no adjacent ocean and no ghost ship," replied Sam. "I mean, we're as inland as it gets."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I hate this elevation. Makes me dizzy," Dean complained, slinging his pack over his shoulder.

"Good view, though; purple mountain majesty," Sam attempted positivity as he hoisted his own bundle.

Dean grunted in response, letting the trunk slam shut and heading towards the sidewalk that ran alongside the building. In that brief instant, Dean cast a careless glance for absolutely no reason over towards the navy minivan where a woman was unloading a young girl from the back seat; a five-year-old, blonde girl.

He froze where he stood on the sidewalk, his heart racing, his breath ceasing. His feet rooted to the spot where they had landed on the concrete, every muscle in his body going rigid. His brow was furrowed and his mouth hung open minutely, for little more than thirty feet away was Alex.

At once he questioned what fresh hell had just been rendered around him, torturing him with the presence of the girl he had worked so hard not to remember, and at the same time he thanked whatever had brought him this glorious glimpse at his daughter, whom he had so desperately wished to see for three long, agonizing years. Inwardly he rejoiced to see her grown, to know that she was alive and healthy and happy. Silently he raged at being so close and unable to run to her and hold her and reassure her that he had not abandoned her, had not forgotten her. So he stood, a statue of a father, watching from a distance.

Sam, upon realizing his brother had paused, turned back to him, a questioning look on his face. Once his eyes followed Dean's gaze, he, too, froze.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed. Swallowing hard as he watched for a moment, he placed a hand on his sibling's shoulder to turn him about. "Dean, we should go."

Dean didn't say a word nor did he protest. He only hesitated, not wanting to rip his eyes away from his child but knowing that he had to leave her and her new family, lest they notice them. So he turned away, because it was important, as he and Sam saw it, that Alex hold no ties to them. She would lead a happier, better adjusted life if her memory was not jogged by the sight of the men she had once called father and uncle.

 _Though_ , thought Dean solemnly, _she was so young when we left her, she probably doesn't even remember who we are. Who we were._

Heartbroken at the thought, he spared one last look over his shoulder as he departed the scene. The little girl, dressed in elastic-wasted jeans, a cottony T-shirt and "well-loved" tennis shoes, clasped her mother's hand as Pam led her towards the door of their motel room, stepping up onto the curb of the sidewalk. When her liquid green eyes fell with curiosity upon the Winchesters, they widened abruptly.

"Daddy!" Alex screamed in glee.

Tearing her hand out of her adoptive mother's, the girl streaked down the sidewalk towards Dean, an impossibly wide grin spread across her face. Pam called fearfully after her as she ran, but halted in her pursuit when she saw who Alex was running to.

What Dean ought to have done was fake it. Fake that he didn't know the girl. Pretend they had never met. Make her think she had made a mistake, recognizing him falsely as someone else. If he and his brother could have convinced her that they were not who they were, then perhaps she had a hope of living without interference from the ragged existence her father led. But Dean, his mind having escaped him in his shock, did none of this. Instead he turned slowly back towards his daughter as she raced to him and, when she was but a few feet away, dropped to his knees, arms outstretched. She catapulted into him, wrapping her arms all the way around his neck, her toes coming off the ground briefly. Dean encircled her tiny body in the affectionate embrace he never thought he'd be able to give her again.

Pam was standing only a few paces off her original position, stalk still, her hands covering her mouth in amazement. Her husband owned a similar expression from his place just behind her. Sam was slack-jawed in his disbelief. All bore witness to the reunion.

"Hey, baby girl," Dean's voice was tight as he clung to his daughter. Then he began to shake as the emotion of the moment worked to overwhelm him. "God, have I missed you!"

"I missed you, too, Daddy," Alex replied, her words soft in Dean's ear. Then, confused by her father's reaction, she pulled back, asking, "Why are you crying?"

"I'm just really happy to see you," Dean explained, smiling at her.

"Then don't cry!" Alex scolded him playfully, wiping the new-fallen tears off Dean's cheeks with her small, soft hands, making him laugh. "That's better."

Dean pulled her back in, covering her cheek and head in kisses. She giggled, a musical, high-pitched chiming.

While they were still together, Pam advanced towards them slowly, moving as if she had gone weak-kneed in her surprise.

"You're… you're her father?" she asked, incredulous.

"You didn't tell her?" Dean questioned her.

"We didn't know," she replied.

Sam gave the tiniest huff of amazement, "She remembered." He stepped over to his brother and niece and knelt down beside them. "All these years. She remembered you, Dean."

Looking up from her father's shoulder as if she hadn't noticed the younger Winchester until he came close enough, Alex gasped in surprise. "Uncle Sam!" she called as she threw herself at the younger Winchester.

Sam laughed, gripping her tight. "I'm gonna lose it," he joked while fighting back tears.

And for the first time in a very long time, the Winchester brothers were happy.

"I still don't understand why you'd just let her go like that," Pam shook her head in disbelief. "I would never be able to give up Matt!"

"Of course, it was hard, but we _had_ to," Sam insisted.

Pam and Doug and Sam and Dean sat together in the motel room, indulging in instant coffee from the miniature coffee maker while Alex played with her older adoptive brother Matt on the far bed.

"The lifestyle we live is as dangerous as it gets and absolutely inescapable," Dean countered.

"But that's just what I don't get!" persisted Pam. "If you fight supernatural beings, then wouldn't she be safer with you – people who know how to defender her from these things – than with people who don't? _We_ had a problem, for God's sake!"

"Yeah, you had a ghost problem," growled Dean. "We have problems with friggin' heaven, hell and purgatory combined. Ghosts are easy. Ghosts are normal. God, we sound insane," he turned to his brother, hearing himself.

"Well… then… why not just quit?" Pam wouldn't let up.

"We can't quit," Dean snapped.

"Of course you can! Everyone quits! People can quit anything anytime!"

"Not us," Sam replied. "No one quits hunting. Something always pulls us back in."

"And if Alex stayed with us, she'd become a hunter, too," added Dean. "This job is a black hole. People born into hunting families just become hunters, no question. It's like a curse."

"Especially in our family," commented Sam.

"Yeah, no shit," Dean murmured.

"Dad was a hunter. Mom was a hunter before dad. Mom's mom and dad were hunters. That's three generations."

"And I'll be damned to hell – _again_ – if there's gonna be a fourth," there was steel in Dean's voice and he glared up at the Hurstwines, green eyes blazing.

Pam sighed. "Well…."

"Daddy!" Alex had come bounding across the room. "Come play with us!"

"I'm afraid I can't, baby girl," Dean responded. "I'm having a serious talk with… ah, what the hell. Sam, you got this?"

Sam smiled, "Sure."

Dean gave his brother a thumbs up and left, tugged along by his daughter.

"It's not that we don't want her," Doug spoke up for the first time in a while, "we just… we want her to be happy and sometimes we wonder about what it'll be like in her future. You know, you hear so many stories about children growing up and having all these psychological problems as teenagers if they've been adopted, abandonment issues and all that."

"We used to worry about that, too," Sam acquiesced. "A long time ago, before we finally managed to let go. That was about two weeks ago," it was meant as a joke but actually didn't fall too far off the mark. "And really, it's better than some of the things that could have happened to her had she stayed with us."

"I guess I'm just having difficultly imagining things being that bad," Pam shrugged. "Our poltergeist wasn't that rough."

"Yeah," Sam grimaced, "imagine a horror movie and add a little logic, angels – who aren't always on your side – and purgatory…. Detract a little logic, too, actually."

"That bad, huh?" Doug's lip curled questioningly.

"We once had to autopsy some creature who had been eating people alive in the woods. Its organs were covered in blue goo. There was a cat's head in its stomach," Sam's eyes glazed over at the memory, still disgusted at the thought.

Pam gagged on the spot.

"I'm okay," she mumbled.

Still trying to throw optimism into the pot, Doug commented, "If you grow up with that kind of thing, though…."

Sam was adamant, "Oh, if you grow up with it, it's _still_ gross." He took a swig of his coffee. "And it's not really just what you see, either, even though that could traumatize you for life. People get killed so easily in this line of work. No hunter lives a long life. I can't count how many times Dean and I have died."

Pam gave a small laugh, thinking it was a joke. When Sam looked confused, she said, "You… you're kidding, right? Or not. Maybe you're not. But wait, does that mean you're – oh, God, you're not zombies, are you?"

"Oh – no! No, we're not zombies," Sam reassured her. "No, we just… well – it's, it's complicated."

"I'll take you're word for it," Pam seemed to have had enough and turned her attention to the two kids and Dean over in the other half of the motel room. The two men followed her example.

They were playing some kind of battling game. At one point, it looked like Matt "shot" Dean, who went flying backwards onto the bed, playing dead.

"Nice to have a soft landing for once," they could hear him joke.

"Have you been shot before? Like in real life?" Matt sounded amazed.

"Sure, couple times," replied Dean.

"What's it like?" inquired Alex.

"It sucks," Dean kept it simple.

"Do you think I'll ever get shot?" Matt asked.

"With luck, no," Dean answered. "Now weren't you people going to tie me up and throw me on the train tracks?"

"Look at them," Pam said gently, warmth in her face. "They look like they're having so much fun.

"Sam, you're brother's so happy. Can't you convince him to reconsider? We'd hate to loose Alex, of course, but… we don't want to be the people who kept a daughter away from her father, and a father away from his daughter."

"I can't," Sam was blatantly downcast. "I want to, believe me. But… I can't. We have to do what's best for Alex."

"Not a lot of people would be that selfless," mentioned Doug. "Even parents with their kids."

Sam reclined in his chair with a gusty release of breath. "Well, Dean and I are used to not getting what we want."


	4. Chapter 4 - In the News

Chapter 4

In the News

Pam and Doug were on a family vacation. They were on their way to Yellowstone when they stopped to overnight in Colorado at the motel. They were due to leave the next morning. And they did. Sam and Dean said good-bye to the family before they went their separate ways – the Hurstwines northward and Sam and Dean into town to investigate the murders, FBI suits and ties donned. They tried to pretend it was a normal good-bye, with simple hugs and farewells. Yet, it had been agreed last night that once the Hurstwines left, they were never to attempt to contact Sam and Dean again, no matter what. With any luck – if it could be called that – Alex would never see them for the rest of her life. Maybe she'd even come to forget them, though Sam made the point that between the age of two and five she had held onto their memory. Nonetheless, this was the plan, and they set it into action.

And the process of forgetting started all over again. It was a little farther along this time, but the wound had been reopened. Dean caught himself crying more than once. It burned inside him, the desire to see her again, the hope that fate would allow their paths to cross at least once more in their lifetime. At the same time he wished with all of his being that she could be free of him completely.

It was not to be. Four years was all it took.

"How's the job hunt going, Sammy?"

"So far," he didn't even bother to look up from his laptop, "looks like we might have the day off."

"Sweet," Dean twisted the cap off a bear, plopped down onto one of the beds and turned on a local football game.

Just as Sam was about to close his computer and join his brother in rooting for the home team – wherever they were at the moment – a series of not uncommon yet somehow surprising sounds came to him: "Hello, Dean," followed by Dean's squawk of surprise and the creaking of springs as the elder Winchester started where he sat.

"Jesus, Cas," Dean grumbled.

The trench-coated angel had appeared directly beside the bed, not more than a foot away from Dean's head. Right on form, Castiel acted as if this were completely normal in spite of the numerous explanations Dean had given him concerning "personal space."

"What is it?" Dean grumbled. "And don't tell me the world is coming to an end _again_ , 'cause we were just about to get some time off."

"I have a question," and the angel dangled a pair of leopard-fur-lined handcuffs in front of the older Winchester. "What exactly is the purpose of this device?"

Sam laughed. Dean looked at the sex toy suspended in front of his face, his expression perplexed.

"Well," he began. "They're handcuffs."

"That was my initial impression, as well," commented Castiel. "However, they seem to be covered in this plush fur. Is this some humane method of incarceration?"

"Cas, where did you get those?" Sam asked.

"I was invited into the dwelling of a woman," Castiel elaborated. "She told me she had information concerning my current mission, but it had a price and she was only willing to complete the transaction in her apartment. So I followed her and she suggested these," he indicated the handcuffs, "but I was in doubt as to their function, and therefore unclear on the deal."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean breathed.

"So I thought I'd refer to you, who are better versed in such matters."

"Well, Cas…," Dean began. "They have to do with bondage."

"As in a slave to their master?"

"In a sense."

"It's more of a…," Sam jumped in, "personal matter."

"She desires that I be a servant in her household?" Castiel seemed taken aback. "That will not work. I am already a servant of the Lord."

"Don't you have access to the internet?" Dean asked.

"I could gain access, yes," Castiel replied. "What should I search?"

"Try, 'handcuffs and bondage.' That ought to do the trick," Dean suggested, grinning.

"Sam, may I borrow your laptop for a few minutes?" Castiel turned to the younger brother.

"Sure, Cas, I was just finishing up anyway. I'll just erase my history when you're...," Sam's voice trailed off in disbelief.

The page that was open on his computer had reloaded during the conversation. The new headline was accompanied by the image of two familiar faces and a pile of wreckage that was once a vehicle. His mouth hung open as he read, horror filling him.

"Is everything all right, Sam?" Castiel questioned at the silence.

"What? Yeah," the younger Winchester replied. "I'm fine. I just realized, I think I'm going to use this for a few more minutes. Would you be able to find a different computer for now?"

"Yes."

There came a sound of fluttering wings and he was gone.

"What's up?" Dean asked. "Find a case?"

"No, I don't think so," replied Sam. "Just an interesting article I'd like to read more into."

"'Kay," replied Dean, who then returned his attention to the game on TV.

Sam read. _Off of highway 90… head on collision with a semi truck carrying a full load… vehicle rolled down a steep drainage ditch… the driver was declared dead on impact… the passenger was airlifted… died after five hours in Intensive Care_.

After a few minutes, Castiel reappeared.

"I no longer want these," he said, dropping the handcuffs onto the bed beside Dean, and disappeared again.

"You know, for a warrior of heaven who's been around for several millennia, he sure scares easy," Dean commented, relocating the cuffs to the bedside table.

Sam didn't laugh.

"You all right, man?"

Sam pulled himself back to the present. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just need to run make a call."

He shut down the computer and went to leave, grabbing his phone off the table. Outside in the hallway of the hotel, he found via the Internet the number he was looking for and dialed. Halfway through the inquiry, Dean peaked out through the door, unbeknownst to his younger sibling.

"So you're holding the wake tomorrow night, but the funeral is the day after? And that's in the church? Okay, which church is that? First Lutheran. Got it. At 11am? Great. Thanks. Yeah, you, too," Sam finished the conversation.

He turned, and stopped on the spot, seeing Dean in the doorway to their room. One of his placating smiles was written across his face.

"So who died?" Dean asked casually, but underneath his tone was something slightly accusatory. His eyes narrowed slightly.

Sam sighed, knowing he was caught in the act. There was no attempting to hide it from Dean. In all honesty, he hadn't been trying very hard, knowing he'd have to tell him sometime.

"Doug and Pam Hurstwine."

The expression on Dean's face changed within the second.

"Come again?"

"I just saw a headline in the online publication of their town paper," Sam elaborated. "They got into a car crash this past Monday on their way back from a school reunion. Doug was dead on impact and Pam died a few hours later. Internal bleeding."

"Were they alone in the car?"

"Yes."

"Don't spare me, Sammy," it was nearly a threat.

"Yes, Dean, they were alone," replied Sam. "As far as I know – the article said they were the only ones in the minivan."

They stood for a moment, quiet. Then Dean spoke up again. "I thought those things were supposed to be safe, those minivans. They had a minivan, right? Aren't they loaded with some arsenal of airbags?"

"I guess it just wasn't enough," replied Sam. "It was a head-on collision with a semi on a highway. They rolled down a ditch; there's only so much a canvas bag of air can do."

"Yeah, I guess."

Silence spanned another gap.

"Look," Sam began, "I know we didn't know them that well, but… their funeral's the day after tomorrow at their local church. We can get there in time if we want to… pay our respects."

Dean looked confused, gazing intently at the dirty, worn carpet of the hallway, his brow furrowed. He was soundless for a long time, lost in thought, until Sam pulled him out of it.

"Dean?"

"I just don't know what to do, Sam," he said. "It's been four years. We've come this far, pretending we're not who we are, staying out of her way. So, her parents die and we're just going to pop back into her life? Again? Confuse her again? Is that really something she needs right now? And for what? To say farewell to people we barely knew?"

"Dean–,"

"And then what? What happens to her now? We're there, and we don't take responsibility for her? That doesn't seem quite right to me. But at the same time, how are we entitled to her in any way? We knew her for two years and one day of her life out of the current nine she's lived. I mean, honestly, she's a Hurstwine now more than she is a Winchester. And good for her, goddammit.

"She should go to someone in her family, or her godparents if she has some.

"She… she wouldn't go into foster care, would she? As an adopted child, she wouldn't get spewed into the system, right?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Oh, come on, Stanford Prelaw, you ought to have the answer stashed in there somewhere," Dean chided.

"I don't. If I ever learned it, I've long since forgotten," said Sam.

Dean sighed. "Well, if we stay in the back for the service, she may never see us. Maybe we could hang out at the reception, ask a couple questions about what's going to happen to the kids, just maintain a low profile."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Sam agreed.

"Okay, let's roll."

 **A/N; Okay, maybe my depiction of Cas isn't as accurate as it could be, but I thought,** ** _Eh, it's funny_** **, and left it as is because... I mean, that's half the reason Cas is on the show anyways, right? Much needed comic relief?**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5 - Forever the Family Business

**A/N: My apologies for the brief hiatus! I'm back into the swing of things now! This chapter and more to come soon! Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 5

Forever the Family Business

It was a very sunny day. Spring was in full swing; grass growing, leaves budding, robins flitting hither and thither. Early daffodils had already been grown and picked from a local florist to adorn the solemn affair Sam and Dean took part in, arriving at 10:59am. Most everyone in the church had been seated with the exception of a few foyer dawdlers. The siblings slipped into the backmost pew almost entirely unnoticed, feeling as though they had come in costume to the event in their FBI suits – the only suits they owned.

In spite of their discomfort, they sat respectfully through the service. Many people around them were grieving deeply – friends, family and others who had held close ties to the couple. The youth and sudden lateness of the deceased sent a lot of those who had known them spiraling into depression. The brothers had seen it before.

During the prayer and ensuing moment of silence, the two tried very hard not to think of any angels they knew for fear of one of them actually showing up.

Through the whole ritual, Dean tried to keep his focus on the departed and the pastor performing the service, but he couldn't help allowing his eye to wander. He was looking for Alex. A glimpse of blonde hair through the crowd of heads between himself and the front of the church. Even the sound of a youthful sniff or the back of her elder brother's noggin, who would surely be sitting next to her, would have been enough for him to locate her. Despite his hypersensitivity in the matter that overpowered his attempts to remain inconspicuous, he could not spot her anywhere in the vast building.

At the reception that afternoon, Sam and Dean interspersed themselves between the mourners. Although their senses were on high alert for Alex in an attempt to avoid her line of sight, they aimed to remain calm, cordial and normal amongst the crowd. It proved difficult. It was also difficult to ask questions about the Hurstwine's deaths and the status of their children without seeming cold and indelicate, especially since they were used to making such inquiries under the guise of steely federal agents. Finding the right person to talk to was also a trick; Sam once ended up holding a middle-aged woman for several minutes as she sobbed into his chest. She had evidently been one of Pam's closest friends.

At last, however, Dean found the right person – a second cousin to Doug.

"How do you know Doug and Pam?" he asked.

"Family friend," Dean regurgitated the pre-established explanation. "We weren't terribly close, but still…."

"It's certainly a shock for all of us," replied the cousin.

"Yeah…," Dean looked downcast, then shook his head. "You know, I worry about their kids, what's going to happen to them."

"Certainly," agreed the cousin.

"You wouldn't happen to know what's going on there, would you?" Dean asked.

"As far as I've heard," the man shrugged, "Doug's sister Laura will take Matt. She was godmother to him. I'm not sure where the daughter will go."

"What, Laura can't take both of them?"

"No – she's already got four kids of her own and a rough job. She'll barely be able to afford taking Matt in; she just can't take Alex," the cousin looked regretful.

"So, where's she going to go?" Dean's heart was beginning to pound. _Don't say it._

"Well, with Laura being Doug's only next of kin and Pam's family being most likely unable to pass a home visit by Social Services–,"

 _Don't you say it_.

"–Alex will probably go into foster care, since she's adopted."

 _Dammit._

"How unfortunate," Dean's voice had grown rough. He was working hard to keep his anger contained. He excused himself quickly; "Well, I need some water. I'm sorry for your loss."

He then proceeded to weave his way through the people, tables and chairs, initially heading for the drinks, altering his course once he spied his younger brother blotting tears our of his suit breast with a cocktail napkin. Sam noticed him approaching.

"Hey," he greeted his brother.

"Hey," Dean replied grimly. "Just talked to a second cousin of Doug's."

"And?"

" _And_ Alex is probably going into foster care."

Sam looked away with a huff. He threw away his napkin with a frustrated flick.

"Is Matt going into foster care, too?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Godmother."

"And Alex can't go with?"

"Apparently not."

The brothers were fuming. Sam's knuckles were white where he gripped the adjacent table.

"We have _got_ to be cursed," growled Sam.

"So friggin' cursed."

"Not even a legitimate curse, either – it's like we've had Bad Luck sicced on us. We can't undo it, we can't get away from it."

"I seriously think we should get snipped after this. The bloodline ends here. No more of this crap."

Sam was quite surprised. It took him a moment to regain his bearings, "I never… I never thought about it, but at the same time, I also thought I'd never hear you say that."

"Yeah, well, here we are," grumbled Dean. "Yet another thing we never thought we'd encounter…. Dammit, Sam, what are we gonna do?"

Sam looked very weary as he worked to answer his brother's question, "Well, we could do nothing. Stick to the plan of staying out of her life."

"And she goes into foster care."

"And she goes into foster care. _Or_ we take her back… and she lives with us, probably ends up hunting with us."

"So the question is, which is worse; hunting or foster care?"

"Foster care," Sam didn't even hesitate.

Dean shot him a look of surprise at this decisiveness. "Really?"

"Hey, there's a lot of ugly crap that goes on in our lives, but at least she'd have us; family, people who care about her. In foster care… she might not… and a lot of ugly crap could go on in her life anyway."

Dean was silent for a moment, "But there's a chance it might not."

"Pretty meager chance."

The elder shuffled his feet, "It can't be that bad."

"Kids get really screwed up in foster care. We were worried about Alex feeling abandoned when we were leaving her in a good situation with what we thought was a permanent home. In foster care, she could end up bouncing around from one broken, abusive household to another. At least with us, she'd _always_ have people who _really_ cared about her. Who'd climb in and out of hell for her; _literally_."

Dean looked resigned for a long moment. But the more he thought on his brother's words, the more sense they made. For an instant, he looked back on all the times he'd hunted alone and then imagined his life consisting only of that. Then he knew he was lucky to have had Sam with him all that time, in spite of the vicious trials they'd faced. At least they had faced them together.

"Okay. Let's get her."


	6. Chapter 6 - Promise

Chapter 6

Promise

They decided to talk to her first. Dean and Sam were adamant that this was the best choice for her, but it was, in fact, ultimately Alex's decision as to where her life would take her. So the two siblings set out about the reception hall to find their youngest family member. It took a good bit of searching, but at last they found her.

She sat outside the room, just a ways down a hall, her legs dangling from a too-tall bench. Her adoptive brother sat beside her, gazing at the floor. Dean walked up to them from their periphery, taking a moment to drink in the image – his beautiful daughter – solemn though she seemed – aged another four years since he'd last seen her. She was already becoming rather tall and it astonished him how much she'd grown. There had been rare and oddly indulgent times when he had allowed himself to contemplate her appearance – how tall she had grown, how her face may have changed – but never had he expected this. Confronted with the stark reality of seeing just how much he had missed of his daughter's childhood measured in inches, he felt as if a part of him were taken away, even though he'd never had it to begin with.

Working hard to keep his emotions in check, he came a little closer… and stopped.

"Hey, Matt," he said gently. Both children looked up at him, and once Dean locked gazes with those liquid green eyes so similar to his own, he couldn't keep the lump from forming in his throat, "Hey, baby girl."

There was a moment in which a blanket of nostalgia and familiarity drifted down upon the scene, where all remained in silence. The youths looked at the man, and Dean's eye did not waver from his daughter's. Then the moment broke. Alex's forehead creased as her eyebrows knit together, her lower lip thrusting up and outwards. Dean started slightly at the look he was receiving; it was the angriest expression he had seen on his daughter (although it was not unlike the grumpy face she had occasionally sported in infancy).

Turning slightly red and gaining a touch of dew in her eyes, she growled with a shocking amount of venom, "Where have _you_ been?"

With that, she popped off of the bench and stormed past Dean into the crowd of people beyond the hall doors. Dean let her go, even though he could have very easily stopped her. Somehow he felt like he deserved this reaction. So instead he watched her leave, shut his eyes and sighed.

"She's just upset lately," it was Matt who spoke from his place on the bench.

"Can't blame her," replied Dean, walking over and plopping down beside the young man. "How are you holding up?"

Matt didn't reply, but looked downcast.

"Listen, kid, I'm sorry about your parents, I really am," said Dean. "They were good people."

"It's just… really hard. You know?" he tried to be brave, but the tears fell anyway.

"I know," Dean put his arm around Matt. "I've been there. It's rough."

"I just miss them."

"I know."

"And I don't know what's going to happen next. I'm afraid."

"I know."

"And my poor sister, she's got it worse. I know where I'm going to go, but… she doesn't know who she's living with."

"…I know."

Matt took a rattling breath and his dampened face turned angry. "I don't understand. I screamed at them, 'Why can't she live with us?!' I don't want her to go away. She's my sister."

Hearing this from Alex's adoptive brother comforted Dean. "Hey, just so you know, I really appreciate that. That you've made her a part of your life. That you've come to care for her and been family to her."

"Is she going to be okay?" Matt was quiet.

"I don't know," Dean replied, despondent.

After a pause, Matt turned curiously toward Dean, "You're her real dad, right? Like, biological?"

"Yes, I am."

"Can't you take her?" asked Matt. "Take care of her?"

Dean nodded, "Yes, I want to. But… really, it's Alex's decision. She has two options now, so… it's up to her."

"I'll make her. I'm her big brother; I'll make her go with you!"

Dean chuckled and patted the boy on the back, "You know, I hear where you're coming from, but we have to let Alex choose. I've been down that road plenty of times before; we can't do that to our younger siblings. Okay?"

"I can't make promises," Matt murmured.

Dean smiled and nodded, "Yeah, I usually can't either."

It was then that Sam came out of the dining hall, Alex at his side. He looked solemn and his niece only slightly less enraged as before.

"Hey, guys," said Dean, standing.

"I convinced her to come out and talk with us," said Sam. "Though she's not terribly happy about it."

"I can see that," replied Dean, then looking to his daughter, "and I understand why."

"Oh, really?" replied Alex.

"Yeah, and it's the last thing I ever wanted you to feel was abandoned by me – by us."

"Then why did you leave me?" Alex growled. "Why did they leave me?!"

"Because, Alex," Dean moved to one knee in front of her and placed his hands on her upper arms, "we didn't want to leave you, but we knew you'd be happier and _safer_ with them. And we _never_ thought they'd leave."

"But they _did_. So what's going to happen now?" asked Alex.

"Well, that's what we're here to talk about. Come on," Dean stood and guided her toward a chair.

"Alex, you _have_ to go with them!" begged Matt, jumping up from where he sat.

"What?" Alex sounded bewildered.

"Because they'll take care of you," Matt explained.

"Hold your horses, kiddo, we'll get there," Dean calmed him. "Here, baby girl, sit."

Alex hopped onto the chair, looking confused but her anger was beginning to subside. Sam leaned against the wall a few feet away to watch while Matt regained his seat on the bench. Dean once again took to one knee before his daughter.

"So, I guess the first order of business is a big fat apology," Dean looked sheepish, taking in a deep breath. But then he stopped and stared into the space between him and the dark, worn carpet floor. Summoning his thoughts, he continued, "I won't say I regret doing what I did, because I don't. I think it was the right decision to give you to people who had normal lives and would love you and take care of you. But I _am_ sorry I left you. I threw away my responsibility of raising you, and that ain't right, forget whatever good I was tryin' to do. And I'm really sorry for what you've had to go through because of it. I'm sorry your parents have passed. You shouldn't have had to endure that until you were much older, both you and your brother. So, just… know that I love you and I always wanted the best for you.

"And I still do. And that's why Sam and I are here. Partly to pay our respects, of course. But also to see if… since you don't have Pam and Doug… if you might want to come live with us."

"Alex, you _have_ to go live with them," piped up Matt once more.

Alex had softened quite a bit, but now her brow was furrowed with confusion rather than anger, her eyes wide and searching.

"Foster care is not always the happiest place on earth, and I won't lie to you, baby girl, it's not going to be easy living with me and Sam, either," said Dean, "but at least you'll have us."

Her voice was soft, "You want me to live with you?"

"Exactly."

"But… you _want_ me to live with you?"

Dean nodded, slightly confused. "Yes. That's what I've been saying, isn't it?"

"Oh…. I didn't think you wanted me around."

"Oh, no, no, no," Dean shook his head, "of course – _of course_ , we want you to live with us. Always! See; _you_ make us _happy_."

Alex burst into tears and flung herself at Dean. He swaddled her in his embrace, bringing her in close.

"Okay, okay, baby girl," he murmured to her.

They stayed there for a while, Alex letting all of the anxieties she'd felt over the years drain away. Sam came over and rested a hand on her shoulder. Dean felt her pain, mingled with his own. All this time she had thought she'd been given up because they didn't like having her around.

When her sobs began to subside, she gave a sniff and asked, not removing her head from over her father's shoulder, "Why do you call me 'baby girl'?"

"Because that's the first thing I ever called you, when you were just a few minutes old," replied Dean, letting their embrace break. "See, your mother and I didn't know whether you were a boy or a girl before you were born. So when you were born, the nurse handed you to me, all wrapped up and cleaned, this tiny, fragile thing that fit perfectly into my two hands, and said, 'Here's your daughter.' And I said, 'Daughter? It's a girl?' And she said, 'Yes, a baby girl.' And I looked at you and I said, 'Hey there, baby girl. My little baby girl.' Later, of course, we gave you a normal name, but for me 'baby girl' always stuck."

"When I'm living with you and Uncle Sam, can you tell me more stuff like that?" Alex asked with a sniff and a smile.

"Yeah, of course!" replied Dean. "You'll hear so much of it, you'll be sick of it before you know it."

Alex giggled.

"But really, Alex," Dean added, mellowing, "living with me and your uncle, it's going to be hard. Really hard. It's not exactly the life you'll have pictured leading. And it might be dangerous and upsetting sometimes."

"I can handle it," Alex insisted. "I have a big brother."

Dean made a face, somewhat taken aback. Then he smirked, moving to better elaborate on the peril of the hunter's lifestyle. He was stopped, however, when Sam burst out laughing. His brow creased, Dean looked to his little brother with surprise and derision.

Sam didn't hesitate; "She's got you there!"

"Oh, come on, I wasn't that hard on you," Dean protested.

Sam gave a teasing expression to suggest the contrary.

Dean shook his head, then continued, "But honestly, Sam, the crap I gave you growing up doesn't quite compare to our lives."

Sam heaved a sigh to release his humor, "Yeah, it's true." He addressed Alex next. "Your dad's right, Alex. The life we live, the life you'll inevitably get dragged into… it's… honestly, terrifying sometimes. You'll have to face things you never even thought existed. The choice you're making to live with us is a choice for a very dark side of life. And knowing that, it might be hard to understand why we're even suggesting it. But the advantage to coming with us rather than going into foster care is that with us, we'll _always_ be there for you and we will always love you, no matter what. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does," replied Alex.

"So you still want to come live with us?" a new smile crept across Sam's face.

"Yeah," Alex smiled, too.

Sam looked to his brother, who gained his own smile, but it was strangely less radiant than those of his kin. His had a kind of clouded joy, as if something blocked it's way from his heart to his face.

When he spoke, it was quiet, but determined. "One more thing, baby girl, before we call it a deal. And maybe this is the wrong time to be sayin' this, but it has to be said," and he took her shoulders firmly in his hands. "You gotta promise me, come hell or high water, you're going to bury me, okay?"

"Dean," Sam hissed, trying to redirect his sibling.

Dean continued, unfazed. "This has _got_ to go the way things are supposed to go, you understand? I'm not going to be – I _can't_ be–," his voice broke, " – the one who lays you to rest, okay? That's going to be your job for me, no exceptions."

"Okay," Alex replied softly.

"Yeah?" Dean nodded to her. "You promise?"

"Yeah. I promise."

Dean smiled. "That's my girl. Bring it in."

Father and daughter embraced. Dean reached out an arm and pulled his younger brother in, as well. Their family was whole again for the first time in a long time.

And Alex kept her promise.

 **A/N: Once again, we're not done yet...**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7 - Instead of a Lullaby

Chapter 8

Instead of a Lullaby

It took several days for Sam and Dean to get custody of Alex, mostly because of the tests that had to be run to confirm Dean's paternity and the paperwork that followed. By the time all was settled and Alex was cleared to go with her father and uncle, it was late in the day and they had a long drive back home. Deciding not to push through the night, they stopped in at a motel. While they were unpacking their things from the Impala, a storm was rolling in….

Sam was jolted awake by the clap of a nearby thunderbolt. He wouldn't have remained conscious for more than the second it took to acknowledge that lightning had struck had he not heard the thudding of small feet travel from the couch to between the beds.

"Dad!" he heard Alex whisper.

"Mmph," Dean grunted.

"Dad!" Alex was more urgent.

At last Dean seemed to awake and whispered back, "What's the matter, baby girl?"

"The thunder," Alex replied.

"What, is it scaring you?"

"Yeah."

Another thunderclap rattled the building. Alex squeaked.

"Can I sleep with you?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," said Dean.

There was the rustle of bed sheets as Dean moved over to make room for his frightened daughter to climb onto the mattress. A flash of lightning lit up beyond Sam's eyelids, and shortly after the room was rocked once more. Alex squeaked again, this one becoming muffled, as if she had ducked under the covers.

"All right, all right, settle down," said Dean groggily. "It's just a little storm is all, nothing to be afraid of. How about we try and get your mind off it, 'kay? Let's see if you remember this one…."

Softly, and quite surprisingly to Sam, he heard his brother's low, sonorous voice begin to sing in a half whisper.

 _Hey, Jude._

 _Don't make it bad._

 _Take a sad song_

 _And make it better._

With soured joy, Sam was immediately taken back. Way back….

The entire house was engulfed in flame.

Sam stood out front, searching the charred skeleton of the building as timbers snapped like gunshots and the flames roared like a train speeding past. His heart raced with adrenaline and debilitating fear as he stood, bound to the spot, because he clutched his wailing 5-month-old niece in his arms.

"Dean!" Sam howled at the burning structure. "DEAN!"

The fire must have broken through to the gas lines, because at that moment there came an explosion from within the house, powerful and destructive.

"NO!" Sam screamed.

He waited. He waited…. He wanted to run into the inferno and find his brother, carry his body out if he had to. But he couldn't, because he would never risk his brother's child, even for the brother himself.

At last, a figure came around the side of the house, heavy in movement, perhaps from physical exhaustion, perhaps emotional.

"Dean!" Sam called to him, taking a few steps forward, but not daring another. "Are you all right?"

Dean waved a half-hearted hand, but didn't speak.

"Ben?" Sam asked. No response. "Lisa?"

Dean shook his head without making eye contact.

"Oh, god…," Sam had known they were too far gone to the monsters they had become, but it still hurt.

Alex cried harder. As Dean came closer, he finally looked up and locked onto her, almost as if she were a life preserver, a safety line. He continued his progress directly towards Alex and Sam. Without a word, he reached out and took his daughter into his arms. He hugged her close to his body, cupping her head with one large hand, and continued past his brother.

"Come on, Sam," he said weakly, and Sam backed away from the blaze. "Sshh, baby girl, try and calm down a bit. I'm still here. It'll be okay. I'm still here…."

They retreated down the front lawn and across the street to where the Impala was parked. There they took a moment to gaze upon the spectacle of a bonfire that was once a home. Dean barely seemed to acknowledge the disaster, instead concentrating on rocking Alex. Understandable, as she was now all he had left, the rest now lost to the hungry flames. But his generic method yielded no results. In a last ditch effort, he sang. Sam was surprised to hear the sound, but was comforted by it; suddenly a small bubble of calm enveloped them in the midst of the hot, burning storm that swirled all about them.

 _Hey, Jude._

 _Don't make it bad…._

 _Remember to let her under your skin._

 _Then you'll begin_

 _To make it better._

"Better, baby girl?" Sam heard Dean whisper over the muffled pounding of the rain.

Alex didn't respond. She had fallen soundly asleep.

 **A/N: Here ends the body of the story, that which has a specific storyline and progression of events resulting in the ultimate resolution.**

 **However, I shall continue with a number of Appendices that will sort of be one-offs based on this story (Although some will contain multiple chapters). If you have any ideas for an appendix, please let me know! I'm sure you'll have some great ideas I never would have thought of. I might be unable to take some of them if they conflict with pre-existing writings, but I'll do my best. Please understand that it might take a while for me to write them as I am now back in school and have a fairly tight schedule. There are also some appendices I just need to edit, so those will likely be published first. If I can get a suggestion done in between some of my pre-written appendices, then I will post that first, but that may be difficult.**

 **Also, the same goes for all updates; I'll try and get one chapter out a week, but that may be difficult. We'll just have to see how much time I can devote to writing.**

 **Many thanks! I appreciate your reading, hope you've enjoyed it and will enjoy the one-offs to come!**


	8. Appendix A

APPENDIX A

Alex age 9

"Okay, so we're starting you off with this little one. You'll work your way up to the bigger ones as you get more experienced, but for your first try, we're takin' it easy," Dean laid out the course plan.

"Okay," agreed Alex.

"Okay, now," Dean turned her toward the target, "you want your dominant hand to be kind of the resting place for the grip. So the intersection of your thumb and forefinger–," he traced the curve of skin on her hand to illustrate, "–to be right up underneath this curve below the back of the barrel." He placed the gun in her hand and meshed her fingers around the grip.

"So then I shoot like this?" she asked, then turning slightly sideways, her arm out straight to aim the gun at the target on the other end of the indoor range.

"Eeh, let's start with two hands first," he rotated her body back to parallel with the target.

"It's not that heavy," she protested.

"It's not the weight of the gun, honey, it's the kickback that's the trick."

"Kickback?"

"Yeah," replied Dean. "See, when you fire a gun, the force doesn't all go into the bullet. It has to push off of something to get moving. You're providing the backboard for the bullet to jump off of. So basically, you have to resist the tiny explosion that happens every time you fire."

"Oh," Alex looked a little nervous now.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. And, like I said, we're starting you out easy. That's why you've got the little gun."

She looked down at the compact 4mm in her hand.

"Anyway, back to the lesson. Now remember our safety rules; when you're not ready to fire, keep your pointer finger straight out above the trigger, just on the side of the barrel. That's the way. Now your other hand wraps around the fingers of the dominant hand around the front of the grip. And tuck that thumb up under the other one. Get those thumbs up against the gun, not on your fists. Good. Careful not to cross them over one another. Awesome. Now keep your form in check; arms straight out in front of you, but relax your shoulders and bend a little at the elbows. Don't turn your body. Keep your stance wide and your knees bent. You need all of this to absorb that kickback we talked about. You have to allow your body to move, but you have to keep your muscles engaged so you can withstand the force. Feel strong?"

"Yeah… do you have a smaller gun?" Alex asked.

"It's about as small as they get, baby girl. If it weren't a semi-automatic, it'd be a starter's pistol. I'm not sure why Sam and I even have it," Dean pondered. "Don't worry. It's scary at first, but you just need to get used to it.

"Dad," Alex let the gun fall to her side and turned towards her father, "why do I have to learn this?"

"We've been through this, Alex; you have to be able to protect yourself," replied Dean.

"From who?" Alex begged.

Dean paused, his expression falling slightly. "It's a dangerous world, baby girl, full of dangerous things, and a lot of them like to hang around your uncle and me. Now, learning to hold your own isn't going to make it all any less dangerous, but it's going to make you better prepared to handle it. And that ability is going to give us both a lot more peace of mind. Okay?"

"Okay," Alex relented.

"Good. Now turn around," she turned, "get into your stance," she positioned herself and held the gun aloft, "don't forget to protect your ears," Dean added noise canceling headphones to the goggles she was already wearing, then adorning himself with his own, "then take aim and when you're ready, fire."

There was a pause of two seconds, then a small bang. It startled Alex enough that she gave a short, high-pitched screamed… as she was tipping backwards from the force of the kickback. Dean chuckled, putting his hands on her back to stop her fall and prop her back up.

"Pretty powerful, right? But looky there! You hit the paper! Not bad for a first shot."

"Do I have to do this every day?" Alex asked, a hint of a whine creeping into her tone.

"No, not every day. Some days we'll practice hand-to-hand combat," Dean teased, although he wasn't far off the truth. " _After_ you finish your homework."

Alex nodded, but she still appeared crestfallen. Dean saddened at the sight. He saw in her the future that lay ahead, a dark and dreary life he had always feared she'd have to live. A life like his.

"I know it sucks, kiddo, I've been there, too," he told her gently. "My dad made me do the same kind of stuff, the same training and it wasn't always fun. And I can't say I won't have to put you through the same routines, but I promise, I won't force it on you with the harshness my dad did. I'm not your drill sergeant, I'm your dad."

"Okay," replied Alex, a little less downcast this time.

"All right, why don't you squeeze off a couple more rounds at that target and then we'll call it a day?"

"Okay," she said uncertainly, turning with trepidation. "I'm gonna fall over again."

"No, you're not. Now you know what it feels like, you'll be ready," prompted Dean.

She sucked in a breath, then fired. This time, she didn't fall over. One, two, three more times after that she took a shot, each one with a longer pause in between. Finally she gasped and dropped her hands down, looking tired.

"Okay, good job, baby girl," Dean praised.

"It's so tiring!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, it is. You'll get stronger," Dean assured her. "Now, turn your safety on. Good, and press this button to eject the clip–."

The clip slid out of the butt of the gun, evaded Alex's attempt to grab it and clattered on the cement floor.

Dean snickered, "It's okay, just put your hand under it _before_ you press the button next time. Now remove the bullet in the chamber by sliding the top back – good. Double check that everything's empty…

"… and we're done. We can call that a good day, baby girl," Dean packed the gun away in its case and pecked his daughter on the head. "You hungry? I was thinking something fried for dinner."

He turned.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel stood within inches of the elder Winchester, who jumped in place on sight of the angle.

"GEEZ, Cas," Dean began and went to back away.

Cas stopped him with one hand around his shoulder. Then Dean felt something long, cool and obviously very sharp slide into his abdomen, up underneath his sternum and run deep into his heart, causing it to spasm and flutter. The pain didn't seize him immediately; it was the shock of having a foreign object imbedded so far into his body that made every one of his muscles shutter and freeze.

Alex screamed.

"Cas…," Dean hissed, breathless, confused and disbelieving.

"I am sorry, Dean," and this time, he looked it, "but Joshua desires to speak with you."

Cas removed his angel blade, allowing a fount of blood to spill freely down Dean's stomach, staining his shirt nearly black. His heart stopped; he felt the strength drain from his body. His legs began to buckle underneath him. He did not fall, however, as Castiel supported Dean, his free arm tight about Dean's chest and back.

"You will be returned shortly to your body," Castiel attempted to reassure him.

Dean began to go limp, the cold chill of death creeping in. Castiel lowered him slowly and gently to the ground, laying him out on his back. Dean's body slumped on the cement, his limbs coiling like cloth ribbon. His breath came in short, intermittent gasps, since his lungs burned for air but the pain of the wound wouldn't allow him to expand his chest more than an inch. What little control he had left he used to gaze at Cas in bewilderment, questioning the action.

At last, his head touched the ground. At the same time, the lights began to fade. Alex's continued screams became muffled and distant. He felt one aching pang of guilt and fear for her, one last powerful emotion, before everything, even his thoughts, numbed. He paled, and died.

Alex continued to scream wordlessly.

"Please," Castiel said, finally looking to her, "do not be afraid. Your father will return soon."

She continued to scream, but additionally abandoned fear and reason and rushed Castiel. Her fists balled tight, she punched and kicked at the angel. She did absolutely no damage to him, of course, hardly even caused him pain. He looked quizzically down at her, trying gently to restrain her flailing hands and feet.

"Listen, Alex, this is only temporary," he tried to reassure her.

She was inconsolable.

That was when Sam rushed in, gun in hand, having heard his niece's screams. He paused at the doorway, confused, and tried to process the situation. Upon glimpsing his brother's lifeless body on the floor and the bloody angel blade in Casteil's hand, he came to the realization.

"Cas!" he chided. "What the hell?!"

"It is only temporary," Castiel attempted an explanation once more. "Joshua wished to speak with Dean. He will be returned to his body when they are finished conversing."

"You couldn't have just zapped him up to Heaven?"

"I am currently not welcome in Heaven," Castiel looked sheepish.

Sam scoffed. "When are you ever?"

Alex's screams had morphed into tears. She stopped fighting Castiel and instead tore away from him, flinging herself onto Dean's body.

Sam sighed, "Seriously, though, Cas – you couldn't have waited until Alex wasn't around? She just lost her parents! She doesn't need to loose _another_ one, even if it's just for a few minutes!"

"Is she not aware of this type of occurrence, in which someone dies and is later revived?" inquired Castiel.

"No," Sam said heavily, tucking his firearm away and walking over to Alex and her father. There he crouched down and gently rubbed Alex's back as it shook with sobs. "Hey, it's going to be okay, sweetie. He's coming back soon. It's okay. Shh, shh."

"Oh," Castiel looked guilt-ridden. He also moved to kneel beside Alex. "Alex, I am… very sorry. I didn't realize this would be so upsetting for you. I know it is little consolation, but your father will be in perfect health when he returns, which will be shortly. Nonetheless, you have my sincerest apologies for… killing him in the first place. That does sound bad, doesn't it?" he redirected his words to Sam.

"Yeah," Sam bit off. "It does."

It was then that Dean's eyes flicked open. Then they were shut tight again as he struggled to regain control of his bodily function. He gasped, then coughed, and gasped again.

"Dad!" Alex screamed, and wrapped her arms around him.

"What the hell, Cas?" Dean snapped at the angel, returning his daughter's hug. "Couldn't have waited a few minutes? Or asked me first?"

"I am sorry," Castiel replied solemnly. "I feel like I apologize a lot."

"That's because you do a lot of stupid crap," Sam scolded. "Dean, are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean growled, then mumbled under his breath, "Friggin' angels.

"Sammy? We got work to do."

 **A/N: So... I wrote this before I saw season 9... Sorry for the weird, accidentally mirrored event.**

 **Thanks for reading! More appendices to come!**


	9. Appendix B

**A/N; This one's for all the fathers who never once made their daughters feel ashamed to be women.**

APPENDIX B

Alex age 13

Alex sat kitty corner from her father at one of the library tables. Her math homework was spread out on the immaculately finished oak surface. An ancient text with tender, yellowed pages lay spreadeagle before Dean. Sam had gone on a grocery run. Alex's leg bounced nervously.

She glanced almost imperceptibly over at the eldest Winchester, not even turning her head. She was considering speaking while at the same time considering what to say, and unsure of neither. She formed sentence after sentence in her head, doubting each one as soon as she created it. Her difficulty with language was becoming more agitating than the subject she was attempting to broach.

At last, she finally just came out with it.

"You know, Dad, if you're seeing someone, you can tell me," she blurted suddenly into the silence. She shrank a little as she heard her voice echo in the large space of the bunker.

Dean looked up at her and inspected her, appearing confused. Alex kept her eyes fixed on her papers (perceiving nothing on them), somewhat afraid of his reaction.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Dean replied.

Now she glanced over, her mouth twisting by the awkwardness she felt, "Oh."

"Why would you think I'm seeing someone?" he pressed.

"Well…," eyes back on her paper, Alex blushed deeply now. She had been upset about the first subject, but this question touched on a whole new subject with which she was even more uncomfortable. "Well, I found the pads in the bathroom and I thought… your girlfriend had brought them in or something."

Dean's face relaxed at the reconciliation of his confusion. "Oh! No, honey, I bought those for you."

This was going in all kinds of directions she was not expecting.

Alex looked over, shocked. "What?"

"Yeah – you were headed towards puberty and I thought might as well have some ready for when you need them," Dean elaborated. "Well, actually your uncle reminded me, I just grabbed a bag one time when I was in the store."

"Oh," her eyes were still rather wide as Dean returned to his book.

They sat in silence for a while. Slowly, _slowly_ , Alex began to relax.

Then her father spoke again, "Say, those were pretty buried if I remember correctly; what were you digging for?"

 _Dammit_.

"Um…," she began, hesitant to reveal her newly forged secret so soon after its creation, "Well… pads…."

"Oh," Dean responded. "Well hey, that worked out well, didn't it?"

Alex nodded tensely.

"Are they still working? They're pretty old; I got them like 2 years ago."

Alex couldn't stop a tiny laugh from escaping her; she had wondered why the bag was dusty. "Yeah.

"So you're not… like… grossed out by it?"

"By what?"

"By… me getting my period."

"No," Dean scoffed. "Why would I be grossed out by that?"

Alex shifted, "All the boys in my health class were grossed out by it."

"Yeah, well, they're boys," Dean brushed it aside. "It's life, baby girl. They'll learn that eventually. And just because they're uncomfortable with it, doesn't mean you have to be."

Feeling a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying lift off her, Alex nodded, "Okay."

They returned to their respective studies, the tension in the air dissolving. They sat for a while, Alex becoming comfortable again sitting in her chair in that room in the bunker.

After a moment's thought, she commented; "These pads are huge."

"Well, there were like ten sizes there; I thought better safe than sorry," Dean replied.

Alex laughed.


	10. Appendix C - Section A

**A/N; Oofda! Sorry to leave you hangin' for a while! Crazy times in my part of the world. Anyways - here's an update! This appendix is in multiple sections, so it's a longer spin-off story with it's own 'chapters.' Thanks for reading!**

Appendix C

Section A

Alex age 17

"Good morning!" Dean put on a cheerful disposition. "We're from the church – new members. I'm Mike. This is Laura–," a teenage Alex waved at the middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. "We were told you, Mrs. Aberdene, were the person to come to about getting the lay of the land."

"Oh, yes, of course! Come in, come in!" said the woman. "And please, call me Jen. None of that Mrs. Aberdene – makes me feel like an old lady! I'm not there yet!"

The two laughed as they entered the house, the interior of which was immaculately decorated and cleaned. It had a very cozy country home vibe; antique finished wood, twig wreaths and hanging wood planks with comely quotes scrawled across them proliferated. Candles were scattered on every surface, in a variety of shapes, sizes and smells: tea lights in decorative holders, cinnamon jar candles under mirrors, tall, blue tapers in candlesticks, and so on.

"Do make yourselves comfortable in the sitting room," said Jen. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you, Mrs.–," Jen held up a finger and gave a teasing expression. Dean gave a small smile and corrected himself, "Jen."

"Well, then, just give me a minute – I have some tea on the stove I can't let sit overlong!" Jen chirped, then disappeared through a doorway.

"She seems nice," said Dean.

"She's weird," said Alex.

"What?"

"She's nice, yeah. Too nice. It would be normal from anyone else, but she seems forced," said the young woman. "And look at this place! It's perfect!"

"Come on, now, I've seen houses like this before and the people living in them have been perfectly normal," Dean played devil's advocate.

"Yeah? Did you notice picture frames in those houses?" Alex persisted.

"Of course, they were everywhere."

"Well what do you see in here?"

Dean paused, his eyes narrowing. Then he cast a glance around the sitting room. A sense of unease swept over him.

"No picture frames," he murmured.

"Exactly," replied Alex.

"All right," Dean turned serious. "Keep your guard up."

There was a metallic _thwack_. Alex crumpled to the floor, having been struck across the back of her head with a tire iron by a round-middled man in a tweed suit. Then–

 _WHAM!_

Darkness.

 _~Up~_

When Dean awoke, he was tied to a chair. Alex was already conscious in the chair behind his and pulling at her bonds. There was a murmuring of some bizarre language coming from in front of her. Candles were lit on a nearby table. The man in the tweed suit stood across from Dean, his eyes half closed and rolled back into his head. He seemed to mouth the words being chanted, swaying slightly from side to side.

"Ah, crap," Dean breathed.

Alex muttered angrily, almost involuntarily, as her struggles were renewed; "No. _No_."

There was a hissing sound, like metal being drawn across and away from wood. Dean glimpsed out of the corner of his eye what he guessed was a knife being removed from the tabletop nearby.

"Friggin' pagan gods!" Dean spat under his breath. "Alex? Alex!"

"They're going to sacrifice us," growled Alex. Then, much quieter, "Just go with me, okay?"

Dean was confused but didn't have time to ponder her words. The chanting was growing louder and more rapid. He guessed the speaker (which sounded like Jen) was about to bring the hammer down. Or in this case, the knife. Dean broke out in a nervous sweat. Yet somehow he knew it would be just fine.

Then the knife dove. Alex pitched her weight to her right. Dean, feeling this, immediately pitched to his left and together they leaned their connected chairs just out of the way of the incoming blade. He felt the ropes resonate as they were struck by the blade. They were not severed, however.

"Ah!" Jen called out in frustration.

They tipped back onto all eight legs. Alex jostled in her seat and her grunt of exertion was accompanied by the cracking of a knee and Jen's scream of pain.

"Pull!" Alex shouted.

Simultaneously, she and Dean pushed their chests against the rope, which snapped. The ropes binding their hands to the arms of the chairs fell loose as well, and they stood to fight.

Tweed Suit had awoken from his stupper and was charging Dean. Dean threw a punch into the man's chin that knocked him unconscious. He collapsed on the floor, limp.

"That was easy," Dean mumbled in surprise.

Then he turned to glimpse the fight between his daughter and Jen. It had already ended. Alex held Jen's knife in her hand, the blade dripping with blood. The pagan goddess lay lifeless and bleeding on the ground. Alex turned to her father.

"That was easy," she told him curiously.

"That's what I thought," replied Dean, puzzled.

Then, suddenly, Tweed Suit appeared before Alex and slashed a knife at her. It dug deep into her throat. Then he was gone.

"NO!" Dean screamed. "NO NO NO!"

 _~Now would be a good time. Up!~_

Dean darted over to his wounded daughter. Her eyes were wide and gazing at the ceiling, her mouth agape and gasping. He took her into his arms, cradling her as she slumped lower and lower. Blood seeped out of the slice in her throat and dribbled out of the corners of her mouth.

"No! Dammit!" Dean gasped.

The fight, the room, the situation, not an inch had felt truly real. But suddenly, this was all too tangible. He could feel her body weaken, not a muscle taut. She was heavy in his arms… so heavy. He could feel the blood falling from her wound onto his chest, shoulder and arm, soaking slowly through his clothes; warm, sticky, liquid. She looked at him, and her gaze was her own, truly and completely, and it questioned him. Why was it like this? Why did it all end so soon?

"No no no, you gotta stay _with_ me, baby girl! You promised!"

The light went out of her eyes as they unfocused. Her check came to lie against his chest, and she moved no more.

"Alex? Alex!"

 _~Up! Up! Up!~_

He called out, no words to describe his agony, only a sound to communicate a wound so deep it could not be seen. He rocked back and forth, knelt on the floor, his young daughter's corpse in his embrace. Although it was her soul that had been separated from its body, it felt as if his were being rent in two. All he could feel was pain, and Alex's still warm body against his.

"Come back!" he sobbed, keeping a supporting hand at the base of her skull as he had so often when she was in her infancy. "Come back! Come on!"

Her head wobbled like a bobble on a string under Dean's direction. There was nothing left in her, only the body she'd vacated, now a delicate vessel emptied of life.

Dean awoke with a violent start. So upset was he that he scrambled to sit up and leave his bed, in the process getting caught in the sheets and falling unceremoniously to the floor. There, he struggled to free himself from the tangle of blankets, but only managing to liberate his arms and torso. His victory was so limited mostly because shortly after his battle began, he faltered and ceased his attempts, instead relenting to the terror that had gripped him. He gasped, covered his face with a hand and let his emotions run rampant. He lay there for a time, still.

After a few minutes, he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. "It was just a stupid friggin' dream," he chided himself quietly. "A stupid friggin' dream…." He tried very hard to brush aside the fears stemming from the midnight horror he had just undergone.

But he knew just a little too much to win that battle. It was only a dream, but it could too easily come true.


	11. Appendix C - Section B

**A/N; Might be just me, but I feel like I managed to write an accurate section of Dean and Sam banter in this one. X)**

Appendix C

Section B

Alex age 17

"I don't like it," Dean growled.

" _Lay. Down_ ," Sam pushed his brother back onto the bed, causing Dean to flop comically, sheets and pillows bouncing off agitated springs.

"I've told you, Sam, I'm fine," rebutted the elder. Sam commenced removing Dean's shoes for bed. "Hey, put that back on!"

"You have the flu."

"I've had worse."

"Not the point."

"Oh, the point is you can run around with Hell-Gate Fever and get doused in an ice bath when your temp boils at a hundred and seven, but I can't even get out of bed when I hit a hundred!" barked Dean.

"And three," amended Sam.

"Whatever."

"You run low, too – that's like a hundred and four for a normal person," Sam pressed, throwing a cool rag at Dean's face. "Cool it down."

"I don't run low! You run low," Dean moved the rag off his eye and nose and onto his forehead, which resulted in an involuntary sigh of relief.

"I don't run low," returned Sam.

"Yes you do."

"Doesn't matter."

"No, let's settle this – here," Dean held out the thermometer to his brother, "take your temp."

Sam cringed. "Ew, no. Get your germ stick away from me."

"Fine. You don't want it in your mouth, we'll take it the baby way," Dean teased.

"That's not that kind of thermometer."

Dean looked thoughtful, "I suggest taking your temp via _rectum_ and your protest is the type of thermometer?"

" _Dean_ , it's a routine hunt," Sam assured his sibling, leaning with his knuckles on the bed, "you can sit this one out."

"It's a routine hunt," Dean flipped the argument, "I can come a little under the weather."

Just then, Dean coughed, then choked, then coughed again, then made a retching sound and grabbed the bedside waist bin, into which he divulged a gigantic loogie that had nearly halted his breathing and his life.

"Ugh, gross," Sam breathed.

"Oh my God," Dean murmured. "What is that thing? Do we need to kill this? Get the salt and lighter fluid."

"It's just phlegm, Dean," Sam took the bin from Dean's hands and put it back in its place. "It's supposed to be helping you, but it's just getting stuck in your windpipe. Which should be a good reason for you to stay in bed," with this, Sam one handedly pushed the elder onto his back. It was an easy move; his admittedly large brother didn't offer much resistance at the moment.

"Maybe you're right," Dean finally relented after having a near death experience with the loogie. "I still don't like it though," he persisted, at the same time moving to get under the covers while Sam adjusted the comforter over him. "If I'm holed up here, who's got your back out there?"

"Hey, Dad," Alex appeared in the doorway, dressed to hunt. "Feeling any better?"

"Nope," Dean immediately flipped his mind back, snapping the blankets off himself and popping out of bed. "Not happening."

It was then that he tottered on the spot, his face going blank, then fainted. Sam caught him before he fell far, grunting with the sudden exertion used to sustain his sibling's dead weight. He and his niece exchanged looks communicating both concern and disbelief in their kin's stubbornness. Not long after, Dean rallied.

"Whoa," he slurred, "that was one hell of a head rush." He regained his feet. "It's fine, though. I just stood up too fast."

"Uh-huh." Sam was not amused, hands on hips. Then he half shouted, " _Stay here_."

"And let her go out hunting on her own? I don't think so," Dean retorted.

Sam waved his arms emphatically in front of his brother's face, "HELLO! She's not on her own! I'm going with her! And I'm second best to you. And the _normal_ you, not this drippy, oozy, barfy, sweltering _thing_ that currently occupies your body."

"Hey, three heads are better than two," persisted Dean.

"Who's the third head, Dean, since yours is rendered nonfunctional with mucus?" bit back Sam.

Dean jabbed a finger at the younger and growled, " _That_ is bullshACHOO!"

The aftermath was not pretty, although it undeniably proved Sam's point.

But not for Dean.

"Must be allergy season," he asserted.

"Okay," Sam said in his tense yet calm tone, "Plan B. Alex, get the rope."

The larger Winchester ducked down, grabbed the comparatively smaller Winchester about the thighs and dumped him onto the bed.

"Ow," was Dean's one comment as his sinuses throbbed with the impact.

"Um, Uncle Sam?" Alex suggested. "Wasn't tying him down Plan C?"

Sam, looming over his brother, looked at Alex, confused. Then his face lightened in realization, shortly thereafter turning dark in a delightedly evil kind of way. Dean inspected his brother with concern.

"Oh, right, I forgot," replied Sam, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "We'll stay here a bit longer; talk it out. You want to get your dad something to drink? We need to keep the fluids going."

Alex nodded kindly, then turned and left. Sam then turned to Dean with a gentle look on his face. Dean returned it with an expression of shocked suspicion.

"What the _hell_ do you two plan to do to me?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam swept the suspicion aside. "Just talk a bit."

"Aw, hell."

"No, really. I get it's hard for you," Sam spoke honestly. "She's your only daughter. I can imagine… and can't imagine… how hard it must be to let her go out and do dangerous things. She's my niece; I'm worried about her, too. But… she has to go out sometime. We can't always protect her. She's almost an adult now. And let's be honest; she's clever and strong and determined. She'll probably be fine."

"Or not," retorted Dean.

Sam shook his head, "We just can't think that way, Dean. We have to have faith in her. I know we Winchesters have trust issues, I get it, but at some point we're just going to have to get over that. Because we can trust her."

Dean was stony, "I had a dream about a week ago. We were on a hunt; she died. Right in my arms, Sammy. I know it's just a dream, a stupid friggin' dream, but….

"I'm tellin' yah… I don't like this."

Sam was saddened, looking away. He gave a sigh, grappling with the thoughts in his head. At last, he returned his gaze to his brother and fastened a firm grip on his sibling's shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, Dean," he said softly.

"How do you know that?" his voice was quiet, and he looked frightened.

Sam breathed for a moment. "Because Cas has got his ears on."

Dean's expression didn't change. Sam doubted his disposition did, either.

It was then that Alex returned, water glass in hand, "Okay, Dad! Here you go." She handed it to him.

Dean took it, peered into the glass's contents, then up at his brother again.

"What the hell is in here?" he asked.

"Nothing," Sam sounded resigned. "The play was Cas.

"Drink up. Maybe you'll feel better in the next couple hours; you can come with."

Dean still looked cautious, but took a drink anyway. He was thirsty.

"You bet I'm coming with," Dean persisted feebly.

"Dad, really, I'm going to be okay," Alex said. "I learned from the best."

"You hitting your targets where you should?"

"The bullets go where I want them to."

"'Kay, good. And hand-to-hand combat?"

It was then that he fell unconscious.

"Dean?" Sam inquired. He lifted up an eyelid briefly, then exclaimed, "Awesome! Let's go!"


	12. Appendix C - Section C

Appendix C

Section C

Alex age 17

This ghost was having none of it. Rock salt only kept it down for a few seconds. It showed up in unexpected places. It's grave was right behind the house it haunted. Sam kept digging, frantically trying to scrape the last deterring layers of dirt off the century old coffin, while Alex stood at the edge of the pit, holding off the spirit with her handguns.

" _Are you there yet_?!" she squawked to her uncle.

"Two seconds!" he stabbed at the dirt with his spade.

Alex gave a high-pitched yelp as the spirit appeared suddenly right in front of her and knocked her backwards into the grave. Landing like a human bridge across the gap, she tensed her muscles to keep from falling deeper. A quick and powerful assist from Sam along with her kip-like motion put Alex back on her feet. As she came up, the spirit appeared off to her side, at which she fired a shot to strike it between its 'eyes.'

A hollow, wooden _thunk_ , and then a splintering crash; Sam had at last reached the coffin and broken it open. Once the lid was in pieces, he threw out the shovel and attempted to exit the pit. The spirit appeared and hoisted the spade to swing at Sam. Alex shot it just in time.

"Salt!" Sam called upon standing.

Alex tossed him the box as she began to dowse the corpse below in lighter fluid. All the while, they both kept an eye out for the spirit, who reappeared frequently only to be deterred by their rock salt ammunition. When Sam's clip ran out, he dropped his gun and Alex dropped the accelerant to focus on keeping the ghost at bay.

It wasn't enough, however. Right when Sam pulled out a lighter, the spirit smashed Alex across the back of the head, making the world spin around her and her ears ring. Almost in the same instant, the ghost took hold of Sam, detaining his ignition of the salted bones. It began to choke him, one supernaturally strong hand around the Winchester's throat, the other clamped over the lighter.

Alex regained her bearings in seconds and glimpsed through the leftover fog an instant in which she could take a shot at the ghost without shooting her uncle… hopefully. Taking careful aim, she pulled the trigger.

Her gun only clicked.

She had no bullets left. The Impala was too far away for her to make it there and back in time. The spirit was holding onto their only lighter. She had neither steel nor flint to spark the corpse. Alex cast her eye over the yard, desperate for an answer to her dilemma.

She found it in the rod iron fencing surrounding the property; what was left of it.

She raced across the ground, a flash of leather jacket and jeans. With all the force she could muster, she kicked out one of the posts. Snatching it up, she fled back to where Sam was now pinned against the side of the house, feet dangling above the ground, face turning purple. A mighty swing with her rod weapon severed the ghost in two, evaporating it. Her uncle dropped to one knee, gasping and scrambling to recover.

In the next second, the ghost reappeared behind Alex and shoved her into the side of the house, her head going through an already broken window. She dropped the iron bar on impact. Sam dove for it, snatching it up in time to fend off another attack from the spirit.

Then, in a wild lunge, he darted towards the grave, flicking a flame into existence and throwing the entire lighter into the pit.

The ghost shrieked, then dissolved in a torrent of sparks and smoke. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and stood for a moment.

" _That_ was one angry ghost," he laughed, turning towards his niece.

As it turned out, the spirit they had just vanquished would not be the worst thing Sam would encounter that night. The sight of Alex laid out on the ground, body shaking, breathing erratic, arms pinned tight to her body with clenched hands held above her head was enough to make anyone's heart skip. Seeing the shard of broken glass from the window lodged deep in her throat, blood rushing out of the wound and leaking out of her mouth, sent a poisonous shock of panic ripping through Sam's entire body.

"Oh, god!" he exclaimed, and shot forward, dropping to his hands and knees at Alex's side. "Oh, god," he repeated as he inspected the damage, moving to touch the bloody mass but thinking better of it before his fingers landed on her throat. Instead, he cupped his niece's face. "Hey. Hey, it's going to be okay," he insisted to her.

She gaped at the air, trying to tease in whatever oxygen she could. The blood soaking into her throat and windpipe drowned her, keeping her from taking a decent breath, so she gagged each time she tried to inhale. More unsettling than her moist gasps were her eyes; wide and weeping, fear was sunk deep into her gaze, which she held on her uncle as if he were her life raft. Sam felt like the poorest life raft to have been created; this wound was well beyond his ability to stitch closed. Additionally, the shard appeared to have sunk clean through her jugular vein, making it clear that she would bleed out long before they made the drive to the nearest hospital. Sam wasn't even sure he could get her to the car.

So he did all he could think to do.

"CAS!" he cried into thin air. "CAS! HELP!"

"I am here," the calm, collected, gravely voice responded.

The trench-coated angel knelt down from where he had appeared above the pair. He looked at the glass protruding from the skin of Alex's throat with a curious, contemplative expression. Then he gave a small, "hm."

"What?" Sam asked, anxious.

Ignoring Sam, Castiel kept his focus on the dying young woman, locking his calm and confident gaze with hers. "It's going to be okay, Alex. This will only last a moment," Castiel explained simply. "Remember to breathe."

Then, in a motion appearing to require neither force nor any sense of sympathy from him, Castiel removed the shard from her throat. A remarkable length of glass came out, hidden in Alex's body. She convulsed, chirping as loudly as her blood-drowned lungs would allow. Sam made to support her as she writhed. Only an instant afterward, however, Castiel laid a hand upon the deep, gushing wound. A light sank into her skin where he touched her and moments later, she was healed.

She leaped up into her uncle's arms as he pulled her in tight, relief washing over the both of them.

"Oh, my god," Sam laughed nervously. "That was almost the end, right there."

"Yeah," Alex's voice was high, choked now by tears.

Without releasing Alex, Sam reached out one hand blindly to Castiel, gripping the angel's shoulder like a vice.

"Thank you, Cas," he hissed.

"Yeah, thank you, Cas," said Alex, and she parted from her uncle to embrace Castiel, burying her face in the folds of beige on his shoulder.

"You are welcome," he replied, returning her hug.

"Okay," Sam said as they all recovered from the ordeal. "Now I think we can all agree… no one says _a word_ to Dean."

The others promptly agreed.


	13. Appendix D - Section A

Appendix D

Section A

Alex age 17

It was an interesting book. It was about the billionth one like it he had read, but nonetheless, it was interesting. Another one of those ancient texts squirreled away by the Men of Letters, with a leather binding he had to be careful to support as he read, attempting to avoid damaging it further than that which the entropy of a few centuries had already caused. Doubtless, it had not been particularly well loved in that time; it was in a messy state, with no margin, cover or binding held sacred. The language was ancient, twisted, often oddly spelled, and sometimes not even in English, though it was written primarily in English. However, even in its dilapidated state after years of changing hands, Sam was determined to keep it well for however long he possessed it. That was why tonight it would rest safely on his bedside table after a gentle perusal. When he had finished reading it, it would get tucked neatly away in the library, in a corner where little happened and it would likely go untouched until the knowledge it kept safe was needed again.

It was one of the most peaceful evenings Sam had had in a long time.

"I don't understand; _what_ is the big deal?!"

"I don't want you going out and getting in trouble with some random guy!"

"He is not some random guy!"

"Of course," Sam rolled his eyes as the shouts of his brother and niece came echoing down the hall.

"He has a pony tail! You can't trust a guy with a pony tail!" Dean snapped.

"That's your measuring stick for trust? _Hair length_? By that logic, Uncle Sam shouldn't be living with us!" Alex retorted.

"Oh, I'll give you weird hair, but he doesn't have a _rat tail_."

Their voices were getting a little too close to Sam's door for his liking. He tried to concentrate on his book, but the task was near impossible.

"Don't you trust my judgment?"

"No! No one under twenty-one has trustable judgment! Have you _seen_ that guy?!"

"Yeah! I have! Have you _spoken_ to him?"

"I've spoken with him enough."

"Enough to know what he's really like? You Winchesters and your stupid 'shoot first, ask questions later'! I'm done with it!"

"Hey, that rule keeps you alive!"

"Does it, though? Or does it just keep you from taking a risk that may turn out to be worth the chance?"

"And what if it isn't, huh? What if he attacks you? What if he tries to harm you?"

"Then he'll have a 9mm bullet in his leg to contend with."

"Takin' a gun on your date? Classy."

"Oh, like you've never done that."

Silence.

The door to Sam's room snapped open to reveal a righteous-looking and steaming Alex, closely pursued by her similarly expressive father.

"Alex, don't drag him into this," Dean growled.

"Uncle Sam," she piped, "what was _your_ impression of Logan?"

"Uhmmm… who?" he honestly couldn't put a face to the name.

"See? He doesn't even know who we're talking about," Dean prodded.

" _Logan_ ," Alex pressed.

Sam squinted at her, as if reading her thoughts required glasses he didn't possess. "Looooogaaaaannn," he repeated the name, elongating it in an attempt to process and remember the person in question.

"Logan from Frankie's, the restaurant in town," Alex finally elaborated for him.

"Oh! The bus boy?" Sam continued.

"Yes," Alex replied, smiling smugly and sounding pleased.

"Ah. Well, he seemed… I dunno, normal?"

"Yeah, yeah, he seemed _normal_ ," grouched Dean. "It's always the _normal_ ones who go the craziest," he shook his head slightly as he bit off the last word.

"So what if he does? I can take care of myself! I'm a hunter!"

"Monsters and ghosts have _rules_ they _have_ to live by!" Dean retorted viciously. "People don't! They'll come at you from left field every time – doesn't matter what you've been through; humans are the worst to deal with."

"Uh, only the really fucked up ones."

"You watch your mouth, young lady."

"Really? Seriously?" was Alex's response.

Sam couldn't help but laugh a little.

Dean shot him an incredulous glare, "You laugh? Really? _You laugh_?"

"Sorry," Sam unfurled an apologetic hand, holding his humor in. "Although, Dean, you must admit, you're not really one to preach given your tendency to use colorful language."

"Oh, _I_ am the one to preach. I am her father; I am the ONLY one to preach!"

"Ah," said Sam. "Do as I say, not as I do philosophy. Got it."

"Hey, shut up," Dean snapped.

Sam carefully put his book down and stood. "Alex, why don't you go out in the hall and let me talk with your dad?"

Alex grimaced, still fuming. "Okay. But be careful, Uncle Sam," she added as she made for the door. "He's pretty angry; he may take a swing at you."

"Uh, we've had fights that have had us duking it out before. Trust me, this is nothing," He reassured her with a small smile.

"Well, all right, then," She couldn't help but throw one last jab as she exited, rounding on her father, "You know, in a few years, I'll be in college and I won't have to deal with any more of this shit."

"Oh, gee, thanks," replied Dean viciously. "That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside." He pursued her to the door; "I'm so glad you have the _gall_ to run off to college and turn your _back_ on your _family_!"

Sam shut the door tight between his niece and his brother.

"She's getting that whole 'college is freedom from your family' crap from _you_ ," Dean jabbed an accusatory finger at him.

"Take a moment to cool down, Dean," Sam suggested.

The elder Winchester began to pace about the room. Sam returned to his bed while his brother trod a ditch into the floor. It was several minutes before anything of consequence happened. All that while, Dean seemed to be having an argument with himself (or perhaps continuing his argument with Alex in his head), muttering inaudible, angsty comments under his breath.

At last, he stopped, rested his hands on his hips, let his head tilt back onto his shoulders and sighed at the ceiling.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked.

" _No_ ," replied Dean emphatically.

"Feeling _less_ belligerent?"

"Oh, I still wanna empty a clip into a burned out car," Dean snapped back, plopping into a nearby chair. He groaned and growled simultaneously; "I tell you, sometimes being a dad _sucks_."

"You've got big things to deal with," was Sam's attempt at sympathy. "Big decisions, big responsibilities, big problems."

"Thanks for spelling it out there, Dr. Phil."

Sam snickered. "Well, that's not the end of it. You ready?"

Dean looked at him quizzically, "For what?"

"For what I'm here to say; The Speech."

"Oh, god."

"I gotta give it," Sam said playfully.

"No."

"Yeeeessss."

"I've heard it."

"You have."

" _Please_ , spare me this once."

"She's a big girl–,"

"Ah, geez."

"–she's smart and she's tough–,"

"Does your mouth ever quit running?"

"–and we have to learn to trust her, as hard as it is for us."

"Shut up…."

There came a moment's pause.

"Dean," the younger summoned the elder's attention, "it was going to happen sometime."

Dean made a motion of frantically punching the air in front of him in frustration, "I know." He stood and resumed his pacing. "But did it have to be with the loser at the greasy spoon?"

"Um, _yeah_ , she's a _teenager_. It doesn't matter how happy she is in her home life, she's going to pick someone at some point who was going to piss us off."

"So you admit that he pisses you off, too!" Dean grabbed onto the tidbit like a life preserver in a stormy sea.

Sam negated the attempt, "I mean, not really. I'm still not entirely sure who we're talking about. I've got the name and a vague memory, but I'm not bringing up a face or anything…."

"Really? Seriously? You don't remember the guy who _shamelessly_ flirted with your niece in the _middle_ of a restaurant with her father and uncle sitting _right_ there in the booth next to her?" Dean seemed a little too taken aback for the severity of the affront.

"He did?"

"Uh, _yeah_!"

"How?"

" _Well_ , he came over to our table and asked her, 'Can I take that plate for you?' in _way_ too friendly a tone, and she said 'sure, thanks,' and then he took the plate from the table and said 'no problem.'" Dean flung his arms out at his sides, sporting an expression of disbelief.

Sam snorted laughter, "That's it?"

"What do you mean, ' _that's it_ '?!" Dean reorganized his argument, "Okay, it doesn't sound like that much, but he said it with this big, stupid grin and way too much eye contact."

Sam laughed, "Oh my god, you are such a textbook overprotective dad."

"With good reason!" Dean countered.

"Yeah, because _monsters_ , Dean. That's a little different than your typical teenage rites of passage."

"Hey, humans make–,"

"–the worst monsters, I know," Sam finished with him. "Not all humans are monsters, Dean. Most of them actually are basically good. It's why we hunt, right? For the good people in the world? Because they're out there. And with all the shit Alex has seen hunting with us, I'd think she'd have the ability to pick one of the good ones rather than one of the few bad ones."

"I dunno, Sam," Dean returned to his seat. "We Winchesters have some real crappy luck."

"Even in the romance department?"

Dean shot him a surprised look. "Of course!"

Sam frowned and shook his head as he thought it over, "I don't really remember anything like that happening to us. Not the kind of stuff that we're worried might happen to Alex."

"Dude… _you had to off one of your girlfriends once because she was a friggin' werewolf._ "

"Yeah, well, there _was_ that one time," conceded Sam. "But I also had Amelia. And you had Lisa."

"Oh, yes, thank you for reminding me of my dead ex-girlfriend," Dean tensed.

"Sorry, man, but _look_ at what became of that relationship," Sam gestured at the door, indicating Alex's presence somewhere beyond.

Dean thought on this for a moment, fidgeting uncomfortably, although he seemed to have softened a bit. Nonetheless, he managed to pull a negative out of it, "Yeah, well, now she wants to run off to college."

"She's just angry, Dean, she doesn't mean that.

"You know what, don't even think about that. Just look at it this way; even if our relationships ended, we still had people who cared about us, people who never meant us any harm, and good things _did come_ from the time we spent with them. If we can find that, God knows Alex can, even if it's the bus boy with a pony tail from the diner."

Dean sat back heavily in his chair, looking sour, "You and your logic annoy the crap outta me sometimes, you know that, Sammy?"

Sam laughed. They sat quietly for a while, contemplative.

"Hey, if it's any consolation," Sam suggested, "we can always have the kid over for dinner and we can intimidate, threaten and basically scare the poor guy shitless. _Classic_ dad-to-daughter's-boyfriend talk."

Dean perked up at this, "I like the sound of that."

"Then it's a date," replied Sam.

"I guess," Dean growled.

"You ready to talk to Alex?"

Dean sighed; "Yeah, I'd better." He stood.

They found Alex in the library, pacing, occasionally flapping her arms in frustrated gestures as if she was trying to flick her agitation off. Upon seeing them enter, she rolled her eyes and trod in an anxious circle, then rounding on them to look expectantly at her father.

"Not quite simmered down yet, baby girl?"

She rolled her eyes emphatically at the nickname.

"What? All of a sudden, you don't like me callin' you that?" Dean retorted tiredly.

"Not when I'm angry at you," was her response.

It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes, but he threw up his hands in surrender nonetheless, "Fine. I'll file that for future reference.

"Look," he started in, then cast his eyes heavenwards; he had to get the cliché part out first and he couldn't help but adopt a childish manner in doing so. He mumbled noncommittally, "I'm sorry I got angry I know you're not a child and can make your own decisions and I should respect them you're smart and strong and clever and I should let you live your own life…."

Alex's anger appeared to evaporate, if not from anything more than being caught off guard by the apology. Her arms hung at her sides, her shoulders dropped, she frowned and her eyebrows shot up, an expression half elicited from surprise and half from being emotionally moved by his words.

Dean returned his gaze to his daughter and inspected her carefully, sticking his hands in his jean pockets. He stood there for a moment, contemplating her. "I've been playing dad all my life. It's hard to stop trying to protect you from every single thing. And I'm still gonna try, don't get me wrong. But I can't lock you away. That just doesn't work. It's not right. And that means letting you pick the guys you date. 'Cause… they can't all be bad."

Alex laughed. It unburdened Dean's heart.

"Come here, baby girl," he held his arms out to her.

She ambled over to meet him and they embraced, her cheek resting against his shoulder. It was a gentle hug, both of them weary from fighting, simply wanting to lean on one another and rest in the comfort of each other's presence.

When they came apart, Dean kept his hands on Alex's shoulders and said slowly, "When you're ready, you bring that boy over to dinner sometime and we'll get to know him a little. And at some point during the evening, I'll get him alone, and, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to convince him that his death at my hands is inevitable. And should he ever hurt you, I can honestly say, it will be. Deal?"

Alex laughed again, exaggeratedly replying, " _Fiiiine_."


	14. Appendix D - Section B

**A/N; Check it - this one doesn't have any canon characters. Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?**

Appendix D

Section B

Alex age 17

"Again, I am _sooo_ sorry."

Alex sat in the front seat of the '85 Chevy Cavalier she so often drove, a black sack in her hands, her boyfriend next to her on the passenger side.

"You're really serious, aren't you?" Logan laughed.

"I don't want to! But it's for the best," she wore apology on her face, one side of her upper lip raised in apprehension.

"What, does your father work for the CIA or something?"

"Well, if I told you that, then I'd have to kill you," Alex teased.

"You are so corny," Logan teased.

"I know," Alex giggled, shrugging her shoulders. She knew it was a compliment in his eyes. "But really, no, he doesn't work for the CIA. It's kinda like that, I guess, but it's… different…. Really different."

"And you think someone eventually is going to come along and try to pry answers out of me about where you and your dad and your uncle live?"

Alex tucked her mouth to one side, hating that she had to reply, "Yeah."

"And you think I'd actually tell them?"

"No!" Alex exclaimed happily, pleased to show her faith in him.

"Buuuuut you still need to blindfold me – or rather, blindbag me – to make sure I don't know just in case I'm… what, interrogated, blackmailed, tortured?"

"Sure, any of those are possible," Alex nodded.

Logan looked genuinely surprised, "Really? Torture?"

"Yeah," Alex spoke without hesitation.

"You're serious?"

It was then that she realized something of her folly and bit her lip, staring wide-eyed at her companion. Given this expression, Logan could tell she wasn't joking, rather that she had let slip a slightly more truthful truth than she should have relayed to him after a month of knowing each other. He gained an oh-my-god-what-am-I-getting-into look. At this, Alex backpedaled.

"Oh, really, don't worry about it!" she lightened her tone, "It's not that big a deal! I'm sure it'll be fine! No worries!"

"Uh-huh," Logan replied uncertainly.

Alex tried a little less hard and a little more honestly, shrugging, "It's just dinner."

His expression softened as he looked at her. "Yeah," he nodded, "you're right. And you're worth that, at _least_."

She smiled, warmed.

"I'm still _really_ sorry," she gestured with the bag she still held.

"It's all right," he replied and bowed his head towards her.

With appreciation, she moved to cover his noggin with the black fabric. But then she stopped short and pulled away, surprised.

"You chopped your hair!" she cried.

"Yes. I did," Logan nodded. "Thanks for noticing _12_ minutes after you came to pick me up."

"I'm sorry, I just… was really distracted about having to ask you to wear a bag on your head to dinner and it's kinda dark out, I thought you just had it pulled back," she rambled, somewhat distressed. "Why'd you do that?"

"So glad you like it," he retorted.

"No, no, it's just… I'm surprised," was Alex's excuse. "Really, what brought about this kinda big change?"

"Well," Logan shrugged, a little sheepish, "you'd said your dad kinda hated the long hair, so I thought… you know, first impressions…."

Alex snorted, "Did you seriously chop off your hair for my dad?"

"Nah, nah, it was time for a change," it sounded like a rather small percentage of his reasons.

Alex laughed. "Aw, I kinda liked it long. Though I kinda liked it because it pissed off my dad. I don't know why; I liked that you pissed him off at all."

"Yeah, well, you can go ahead and piss off your dad," Logan said. "I'll be right over here – whatever 'here' he wants me to be at – trying to do precisely the opposite. I've seen him in the restaurant," a fear crept into his eyes. "He kinda… he kinda looks like he could kill me with his thumb."

Alex was incredibly amused at this whole turn of events, laughing, "Yeah, he probably could. He wouldn't though," she placed the sack over her boyfriend's head. "That's not his style."

 **A/N; So, unfortunately this chapter may mark the beginning of a brief hiatus. With school work taking up nearly all of my time, I can't devote as much attention to my fan fiction as I would like. I** ** _am_** **making headway! But it's hard to say if I'll have a publishable chapter ready by this time next week. I know some of my reviewers have expressed excitement for getting to the "Meet-the-Parent[s]" dinner, but it's precisely for that same reason that I'm not pushing it; I want it to be as good as you were hoping for! Fingers crossed!**

 **So for now, thank you so much for reading! Keep an eye open for updates! With any luck, it will be a short break. :)**


	15. Appendix D - Section C

**A/N: Ha! I got it done! A part of it at least. Probably best to make it as such anyway - it would have been a very long chapter otherwise! So here's the first portion of Logan's dinner with Alex and her family; the introductions.**

Appendix D

Section C

Alex age 17

"I can't decide how much I want to scare the crap outta this kid."

Dean paced slowly around the bunker's kitchen table, a stack of plain plates in one arm. Sam carefully arranged the silverware on the place settings on the other side.

"There's going to be a fine line between really making him extremely uncomfortable and loosing any kind of respect from Alex," Dean continued.

"Well," Sam replied as he urged a fork and knife set into parallel lines, "It's probably best to err to one side or the other. So you'll have to decide which is more important; making some poor young fellow who's probably already terrified of you even more terrified of you, or your daughter's trust and affection."

Dean paused, looking critically off into space. Sam soon noticed his brother and furrowed his brow in query.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm thinking," Dean replied.

Sam rolled his eyes and continued his preparation of the table. "He seems to be a pretty good guy, Dean. Least from what we've heard about him."

Dean scoffed, "Yeah, because Alex's opinion isn't biased at all."

"Hey, she's no push over; if he didn't treat her right in any way, she wouldn't hesitate to dump him on his ass and you know it," Sam replied as he finished with the silverware and heading over to the oven. "Do you remember that time in the convenience store in Kansas?"

Dean scrunched his face in confusion, "Convenience store in Kansas?"

"Yeah, when she got Spot," Sam elaborated, searching the counter for his wooden spoon.

"Oh, we're goin' _way_ back," Dean replied.

Sam laughed, "Yeah. She must have been one and a half," finding his spoon propped on a saucer, he uncovered a large pot simmering on the stovetop. "She started pointing at that display of little stuffed dogs and you handed her one and she threw it viciously back at the display and pointed at a different one."

"Yeah, with a blue ribbon instead of a red one," Dean replied. "I forgot that! She was so pissed I gave her the one with the wrong ribbon."

"Exactly," Sam stirred the contents of his pot. "She knows what she wants and what's good for her; she always has."

Dean grimaced, "Yeah, I guess, what the hell are you making, anyway?"

"Jasmine and wild rice pilaf."

Dean shook his head. "Thank god I'm making meat."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother once more and replaced the lid of the pot, setting the spoon back on its saucer.

"Well, you check on your meat; I have to run to the bathroom," Sam clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder on his way out of the kitchen.

Dean growled inwardly and went to investigate the progress of the stakes he had in the oven. He smiled at the sizzling slabs of beef, marinating in their own melted fats.

"See, now that's food," he said to himself.

It was then that the sound of the front door of the bunker opening came from beyond the threshold of the kitchen entrance. The rustle of jackets (and hopefully the black sack Logan was supposed to wear) could be heard as Alex's boots tapped on the wood floors.

Dean sighed, "Here we go."

He closed the door of the oven and made his way towards the crow's nest as Alex called, "Dad! Uncle Sam! We're home!"

"Hello, Mr. Winchester!" came Logan's greeting.

Dean paused on the step of the kitchen door, teetering slightly as if dazed by the sound of the young man's voice.

"Oh, god, I hate him already," Dean murmured before continuing to the open-story entrance.

* * *

"Why the hell did I call to him, too?" Logan hissed to Alex. "That was so awkward!"

"It is not," Alex insisted, mildly exasperated.

Logan shook slightly, looking around at the vast room into which Alex had guided him while still blind-sacked. Given the ragged-edged look of Dean and Sam, he had half expected to be brought into some trailer wreaking of stale smoke and garlic, the kind of place with a shotgun-wielding neighbor on one side, a meth lab on the other and angry dogs behind. But _this_ … this was much worse. This was _intimidating_. The vast space, finely furnished and clean-lined, made him feel small and insignificant. The mystery of it persisted, which amplified the terrible unknown surrounding Dean.

And speak of the devil, as Alex led Logan down the stairs, there he appeared from some door leading into the unknown; the Father. He already looked steely and impatient, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's and his lips pursed as if he had just sucked down something sour. He looked bigger than Logan remembered. There was a kind of effortless swagger in his step as he strode across the marble floor like a gladiator across the Coliseum.

"Hey, Dad!" Alex greeted him.

"Hey, sweetie," Dean softened as he bestowed a smile on his daughter.

Alex then turned to Logan, guiding him forward with a hand on his elbow, saying, "This is Logan."

Desperately hoping his hand wasn't noticeably clammy and sweaty, Logan extended it to Dean, "Nice to finally meet you, Mr. Winchester."

Dean took the proffered hand and shook briefly, his grip like iron. Logan forced himself not to squirm under the contact.

"I thought we'd already met," Dean proposed the notion.

"Oh, well," Logan worked to correct himself as Dean let go of his hand, "I suppose I've seen you in the restaurant now and again, but never got the chance to introduce myself."

"Mm. I see," Dean replied. "I thought your hair was longer."

"Oh, um," Logan suddenly panicked. _Why did I go and chop it off?! Cutting my hair for the father of my girlfriend? That's so creepy!_ "It was. Longer. It was time for a change."

"Ah."

 _Oh my god! He thinks I'm lying to him! Well, I kind of am – concealing part of the truth. Oh my god, he knows I'm lying to him! We've only talked for thirty seconds and I've already lied to him!_

"And… I wanted to make a good first impression," Logan shrugged.

Dean's eyebrows jumped up a scosh. "You cut your hair for me and Sam?"

"Ah…," Logan stood at nearly eye level with Dean, yet somehow the youth felt a great deal smaller. Perhaps it was how straight Dean stood, tall and immovable like an iron statue. Or maybe it was the general breadth and sturdiness of his frame supported with a more than sufficient amount of muscle. Logan couldn't help but notice the circumference of Dean's arms and chest and wondered how easy it would be for the man to literally throw him out the front door. "More for the occasion, really."

Dean chuckled slightly, obviously seeing through Logan's feeble excuse, "Wow. Hadn't even walked through the door and you already had your nose straight up my ass."

At that moment, Logan felt all his internal functions – lungs, heart, everything – just stop.

"Oh my god. _Dad_ ," Alex snapped, astonishment on her face.

"What? I'm impressed! Not everyone would suck up that much that quickly," Dean patted Logan roughly on the upper arm. The youth was loosing feeling in his legs.

" _SO_ , what did you and Uncle Sam make?" Alex tried to change the subject. "Smells good. Are we going to have a _nice dinner_?"

Dean took a long breath, "Yes, it should be decent enough."

"Awesome," Alex replied sharply.

Dean turned and motioned them to follow. "Why don't you come on into the kitchen? Should be ready in just a few minutes.

"Logan; careful not to catch any flies with your mouth hanging open like that."

Logan checked himself, snapping his mouth closed when he realized his jaw had dropped at some point.

"Not a lot of flies in here, though; place is pretty tight. Only one way in and out," Dean continued as he strode across the floor.

"Christ," Alex hissed under her breath as she followed her father, Logan drifting behind her.

* * *

Sam returned from the bathroom and paused in the doorway to the kitchen. The area was empty, his brother having disappeared. He cast a curious glance around the room.

"Dean?" he asked the vacant space.

"Logan; careful not to catch any flies with your mouth hanging open like that," Dean's voice drifted in from the crow's nest.

Sam's eyes widened as he realized where his brother had gone.

"Oh my god!"

The young man would have become chum at this point with only Alex around to run interference. Sam twisted around and raced back out of the kitchen and down the short hall into the entry. There, he stopped short just in time to keep from knocking poor Logan onto his back. The youth ran into Sam anyway.

"Whoa! Sorry!" Sam quickly apologized.

"Oh! Sorry!" Logan replied, then looking up to see who he had catapulted into and his eyes grew large. "Oh my god, you're big. No! Not big!" he backpedaled. "Tall! You're rather tall. You're not big at all." His eyes glanced down to Sam's narrow waist. "In fact, you're rather fit and trim. _Oh my god, I am so sorry_." Logan hung his head and slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Wow," Dean said before turning and exiting. "Smooth, kid."

"Whoa, man, it's okay!" Sam laughed sympathetically at the flustered tirade. "Hey," he put his hands on Logan's shoulders and the boy looked up at him, "I'm on your side."

Logan visibly released a calming breath, his taut muscles relaxing under Sam's palms. Sam smiled.

"I'm Sam, Alex's uncle."

"Nice to meet you," Logan replied, shaking Sam's hand. "I'm Logan." He seemed exhausted – what the poor boy must have been through in the past few minutes!

"Nice to meet you, too, Logan." Sam gestured in the direction of the galley. "Why don't you come into the kitchen? Dinner's almost ready."

"Okay," replied Logan. The boy seemed to be mentally preparing himself for interacting with Dean again.

Sam prepared himself to interact with Dean as well, knowing he would have quite a job to do keeping his elder brother from completely demolishing this innocent youth. The younger Winchester gritted his teeth as he led Logan down the hallway to the room from which the rich sent of stake was wafting.


End file.
